I scratch my back
and empty my tipple,
wonder how Tom got so good.
I call Matt English,
and thank him for song;
he hangs up on me.
I story the life of the rumbler tonight
with my worthless,
silent eyes.
I catch her curtain,
and carry her surprise,
never knowing the reason why.
Except love, sweet stupid love,
and the stupid stars above,
but I can't stay here, back.
Can't kill me, not yet,
but if I were a better man,
it's coming soon.
I guess there's nothing I can say
to change the way things unfolded,
accept copy songs and change the lyrics or stay silent.