What you're looking for is never what you find
|
Nothing ever seems to turn out right
|
|
Still running around still searching
|
all these long indifferent streets
|
For your lover or some cover
|
to protect you from the heat
|
That you feel inside
|
inflamed since you learned to cry
|
|
Ever since you learned to walk you ran away
|
kept running till you couldn't feel your legs
|
|
Now you stumble round this drunken town
|
pawn shops and titty bars
|
telling tales of just how far you got
|
But they'll all know who you are
|
Yeah you're not so great
|
You're just early out of the gate
|
|
there's a portrait of your mom when she was young
|
Her face was shining brightly as the sun
|
The son who got away from her
|
but came back home again
|
to find a women wrapped
|
with all this love she couldn't give
|
But you know she did
|
You just couldn't feel it then
|
|
Found a birthday card from this lady I used to know
|
It said boy you're really starting to get old
|
|
She's the mother of my mother
|
I knew just what she meant
|
She'd been through it before
|
she'd known of all of this resentment
|
becomes regret
|
I just hadn't gotten there yet
|
|
Nothing ever seems to turn out right
|
No never, never seems to turn out right
|
So I leave it at this
|
my deep blues need rest
|
|
-----------------
|
Early Out the Gate
|
| The Good Life |
