... And I'll be honest here,
as I've nothing better to do,
and I'll tell you...

the truth
about the way things are
inside this giant super star
of the life I lead
and in between
I'll leave the door ajar
((maybe someone will slip in tonight))

it's raining outside
and maybe I'll go out for a ride
or a walk would probably do me better...

I made a list of things to do
one of them was writing you
but I'll check it off when I'm done
just like the laundry or the errands I've run
and that isn't right,
you know it's not.
it couldn't be much worse.

the lonely room
and summer rain
(I can't believe it's here again)
it hit me like a hurricane
man, I'll never be the same

but I say that every year
and every time the voice is clear
then I begin to drift
in the usual way

yesterday a friend said to me "dear,
what are your plans for the next ten years?
what are you thinking about?"

I didn't quite know what to do,
I let it slide,
I played it cool.
I said "ask me tomorrow,
I'll let you know"
(I'll make up something in the morning)

and in the diner today
I overheard the waitress say
"should a never moved away..."
as she counted her change

but I got cigarette stains
in the usual place,
(I drove myself home in the usual way)
and worked up the courage to be indifferent.

the courage to say "What's the difference?"

now this is my bed, this is where I sleep
a couple of worn-out roots in a rotting tree
please just leave it be
"well, I just want to see
what's the matter"

so come on in
to this little parade of sin
"it's a little bit like the headlines"
and I grin
as if to say
it wasn't always this way
(you know I used to believe it)

and this is the way it is
it was
and will be
a funny feeling of helpless laughter
washes over me
and I sing
with the showering rain
...as it pours down the drain

a city street at night,
or new holland beach at first light
it's the feeling that everything
will come together again

I've got a pocketfull of change
an ink pen and a keyring holding on
to all the places
I've abandoned
to all the places I'm not welcome anymore
to all the places with their locked up doors

maybe-someday I'll have a hidden driveway
or at least a mailbox with my name on the side
maybe I'll be able to decide
what's the matter

or maybe someday I'll go and talk to you
instead of writing and when I'm through
falling into bed
feeling better somehow
feeling flattered

I can see this has gone on a little too long
the sun came out and the rain is gone
and I have to go to work
I have to go to college

so I'll be honest here and I'll tell you,
I've nothing better to do

I've nothing better to do

and I miss you

I sometimes miss you.

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