Sing me the song 
of the bottled blonde 
and the first class chump, 
With a second hand hard on. 
Take me inside his puppy dog eyes 
and his fair weather lust. 
Tell me all about her psycho-scenes, 
her ball and chain dreams, 
Her total lack of trust. 
Then tell me what he misses so much. 
It's not about her. 
It's not about you. 
What you should be thinking about is, 
Who were you screwing then, 
and who the fuck are you now. 
It's not hard to forget, 
when the longer you're gone, 
the better she gets. 
And nothing spells love 
like the bitter-sweet sting of regret. 
I know you're not blind, 
you're just dumb. 
A little bit jealous, 
and a touch undone. 
You only gave up what you couldn't hack. 
Monday Morning Quarterback, 
you suck. 

Break out the thumbtacks. 
If you crucify me now, 
I'll get some rest, 
And you'll feel less let down. 
My father always said, 
"Don't ever let them in your head, 
Because they dig things up, 
and then they throw things out." 
It's like that first, "Oh Shit," 
when the condom slips, 
You can't pull out 
and you can't push in, 
You wonder if you love her enough. 
And all you are is stuck. 
I'll never be a better man than me. 
From here I get old, 
I get tired, 
I get weird. 
From here I get bitter. 
It's like the butt that's stuck to your upper lip, 
When your hand slips down around the tip, 
and you're already burned. 
And all it does is hurt. 

I got a little higher than my soap box, 
you let your hair down and I cut it off. 
And you said to me, 
"Man, it's not you, 
it's just everything you do, 
That pisses me off." 
You stepped back and said, 
"You're never really sober." 
I said, "Relax love, 
my liver's getting older than either of us, 
It's bound to fail one day, 
I'll throw my vodka away when it does." 
You don't have to make me choose, 
I love you more than booze, 
But it loves me more than you. 
You said, "You're killing yourself." 
I said, "I know, but if I don't, no one else will. 
It's a hell of a way to go, 
Painless and slow, 
there's always time to kill." 
It's only my little murders. 
It's the only thing that's keeping me sane. 
Tell me dear, 
is that something you really want to change. 

I'll tell you why I went away, 
if you tell me why you hung around. 
I never really meant to stay, 
but I couldn't figure you out. 
Curiosity wrecked the bed, 
it closed my eyes and turned your head. 
Hello dear, say hi. 
Hello dear, say goodbye. 
I'll tell you what you think you want to hear, 
If you promise to hold me to the word. 
I'll show you how I preyed upon your fears, 
If you swear that you'll remember what you learn. 
All your plans were hopeless dreams, 
and none of my words were worth a goddamn thing. 
You make it harder than it has to be. 

It's not hard to recognize. 
It's just a little shattered in your eyes, 
And you try to hide it, 
but that only draws me in. 
Tonight you cry alone. 
While you salt to taste your sorrows, 
I drown mine out of sight, 
in whatever I can find. 
You brim, and I'm empty, 
I bailed while you were sleeping. 
I've been bailing all along, 
and now that part of me is gone. 
It comes and goes, 
I know it does. 
I've buried mine, 
and now I'm burying yours. 
But there's some things we can't bury deep enough. 

We smoked the night, 
a kind familiar weed, 
And we tried to trade our rented souls for sleep. 
But the gods, at best, 
were hungry pests, 
crouched in worship at our feet. 
Our souls weren't worth their tortured births, 
And their dreams weren't worth the shit we bleed. 
And she said she'd never once closed her eyes. 
I was wrong to ask her why, 
Because she told me what she meant, 
and I haven't closed mine since. 
I sit down, 
the static rolls gently. 
Breakwater sound, 
the T.V. set's empty. 
She wakes up, 
remembers the bad dreams. 
There's no one around, 
At least they were her dreams. 
And honey-chile sleeps, 
he sleeps in the hallway. 
He feels for the cracks, 
He circles the bad days. 
And all we want is more and more, 
but nobody really knows where the money goes. 
She's upstairs writing cold war poetry, 
and high school drama club scenes, 
She wonders how her love life reads. 
And I'm out back in a tolulene haze, 
dreaming of the salad days, 
I wonder if I'll go away. 

Sarah flows like water 
through the room of sunset curtains, 
Where every Jesus loses faith. 
She cooks it up and slips it in. 
And the feedings begin. 
Smokey eyed tapestries 
paint hell on her carpet, 
Where she crawls toward salvation 
through nod-laden hills of lint. 
Like the derelict priest in his pulpit, 
hailing god for all mankind, 
With tightened fist, 
and tighter soul, 
she's tight and yet sublime. 
Surgical snap, 
and heaven stands wide open. 
God rushes in through the back 
of her supple neck.

Lacy emissary from a past I'd thought long dead,
It seems Mike's getting married,
And recalled his now lost friend.
And Tony called, said 'Man you've gotta go'
He was as drunk as me again.
Some things never end.
Big Nick's doing penance for his mother's strangeity
He wets his pen with bourbon,
Slow suburban eulogy.
And Duncan's got his mirrors,
The Van-clan is still at home,
All my friends are assholes,
And before I ever left I felt alone
In my bastard home.
It's a strange ending to the same old scene.
They built a school on the druggy park
Where we stoned our Saturdays,
And a neighborhood has replaced the deeper woods
Of my first lay.
And where are all those backseats?
They married jocks in slow decay.
And all those counted empties?
You left them all behind, you didn't mind.
You never liked it anyway.
I'll have to find a jacket,
And a shirt devoid of stains.
Mike's getting married, 
and not a goddamn thing has changed.