I gotta write another chapter
I've been feeling incomplete-
this epic voyage of my 30s reads a little weak.
So, how did we end up here, sidelined on the coast?
We finally stopped our rambling
to live happily by the shore.
Now, I'm afraid I'm gonna die here,
dried up like some beached whale,
and nobody will ever hear my tale...
I was single in the city, up North in L.I.C.,
selling stories to an audience of friends and family.
And I wasn't seeking women,
though I stumbled on my share;
like Simon on 7th Avenue,
"I took some comfort there, mm, hmm."
And then I met her-a wilted flower-
she bloomed too soon, dwarfed amongst the towers.
Burned out like a child twirling a sparkler.
I got her as far as Iowa;
she started to regain most of her color...
that's when she told me
there was another.
Love, it makes you lazy,
you don't ask questions anymore.
You settle into the furniture,
collecting cobwebs on the porch.
We got a cabin on the beach,
I took on a mistress of my own.
You knew, but you didn't say anything;
we're too scared to be alone
...And afraid we're gonna die here-
this town's bloated with old folk's homes-
when we kick the bucket, who's to really know?
Do they notice once our breakfast has grown cold?
And when the orderlies steal our wedding rings
do they even care what stories
our bands of gold could tell?
You said, "Baby, you worry so much about dying,
you forget to really live."
"Yeah? Maybe so-now tell me who you've been with."
So, I'll write another chapter, I mean, it's all I can do.
And if my body's tossed along the craggy rocks
I hope this book is waterproof-
Greetings from the Pacific!
We tied the knot out on the sand.
I got a job writing obits - a professional writer at last!
I'm afraid I'm gonna die here all comfy and content.
I wrote my own obit, reduced to one sentence:
"Timothy was a sensible citizen;
he cast aside his starving eyes
for his very own slice of American Pie,
a sensible decision."
I better write another chapter.
I've been feeling incomplete-
this epic voyage of my 30s reads a little weak.
So, how did we end up here, sidelined on the coast?
We finally stopped our rambling
to live happily by the shore.
Now, I'm afraid I'm gonna die here,
dried up like some beached whale,
and nobody will ever hear my tale...
I was single in the city, up North in L.I.C.,
selling stories to an audience of friends and family.
And I wasn't seeking women,
though I stumbled on my share;
like Simon on 7th Avenue,
"I took some comfort there, mm, hmm."
And then I met her-a wilted flower-
she bloomed too soon, dwarfed amongst the towers.
Burned out like a child twirling a sparkler.
I got her as far as Iowa;
she started to regain most of her color...
that's when she told me
there was another.
Love, it makes you lazy,
you don't ask questions anymore.
You settle into the furniture,
collecting cobwebs on the porch.
We got a cabin on the beach,
I took on a mistress of my own.
You knew, but you didn't say anything;
we're too scared to be alone
...And afraid we're gonna die here-
this town's bloated with old folk's homes-
when we kick the bucket, who's to really know?
Do they notice once our breakfast has grown cold?
And when the orderlies steal our wedding rings
do they even care what stories
our bands of gold could tell?
You said, "Baby, you worry so much about dying,
you forget to really live."
"Yeah? Maybe so-now tell me who you've been with."
So, I'll write another chapter, I mean, it's all I can do.
And if my body's tossed along the craggy rocks
I hope this book is waterproof-
Greetings from the Pacific!
We tied the knot out on the sand.
I got a job writing obits - a professional writer at last!
I'm afraid I'm gonna die here all comfy and content.
I wrote my own obit, reduced to one sentence:
"Timothy was a sensible citizen;
he cast aside his starving eyes
for his very own slice of American Pie,
a sensible decision."
I better write another chapter.