This ship of fools is going down. The captains’ sea-sick, and the navigator can’t be found. The deck-hand’s shit-faced, and he’s poured another round. This ship of fools… I can’t believe I’m going down with you I can’t believe I’m going down with you I can’t believe I’m going down with you and this ship of fools. This ship of fools is sinking fast. We saw the iceberg from a mile, and still managed to crash. The sails are shredded into white flags - swinging from the masts. This ship of fools… This ship of fools is going down. And I’m just another fool, waiting for my turn to drown.

I fell for it again. I bit the poison apple. I tripped over the roots that grew through the ancient pavement. And it gets worse. Cause I shared this curse with you. The pit get’s deeper each time. Can’t scrub the dirt from my fingers. Can’t rub the dust from my eyes in time to catch the light. I feel for it again. Looked in the magic mirror. The glass was broke showing 10,000 problems and I can’t fix them. But it gets worse. I don’t know where to turn. Cause I shared this curse with you.

You were driving stick shift. I was feeling car-sick. We were both scared shitless on this narrow little road. Fingers clutched in terror. No room left for error. Breaks screeching in failure as the tires let us go. Over the edge. Over the edge. Try not to lose your lunch - try not to lose your head. We're goin' over the edge. I stood on the threshold. Did everything I was told. Fortune favors the fold but safety is such a happy lie. So I’ll stand here waiting. You may see some shaking. What’s the use in debating what feels wrong and what feels right? You were driving stick shift. I was feeling car-sick. But I still had one trick hiding up my sleeve. Over the edge. Over the edge. It’s gonna happen over and over and over again Over the edge.

Another friend is moving of our street. He packed up all the things he couldn’t keep. He left them in a great big heap - on the sidewalk. First they took his couch away. With the cushions that still held his shape. And the stains of hundred spilled beers. Then someone took his desk and his chair. He never got any work done there. But it’s where he drank his morning coffee. Finally someone took the rug. A box of plates, and a couple of mugs. And the garbage man carried away the rest. So today on my morning commute - I said goodbye to these fossils of you. And I wondered how we’re going to get along this time.

I know a man. He carries the sun inside his pocket. Sometimes he drops it to watch it roll - to my feet. I know a man. He throws the sun from hand to hand. I watch it land deep inside his palm. It won’t be long. I know a man. He carries the sun inside his pocket.

This song’s for the birds. The ones outside my window. The Chickadees and Robins, the Starlings and the Blue Jays. I listen to their songs. And I wanna sing along. But I just don’t know exactly what they’re saying. So this song’s for the birds. They’re forcing me to listen. Because they’re conversations’ are all I’ve got to keep me sane. All the different calls. The coos and the caws. Become a symphony and they don’t even need a conductor. So this songs’ for the birds. I really used to hate them. I blamed it on their beaks, and their beady eyes, and their talons. But really I was jealous. Jealous of their songs. That they sing all day long even when no one is listening. So this songs’ for the birds. The ones outside my window. The Chickadees and Robins, the Starlings and the Bluejays.

Goodbye, Eli. Don’t expect me to drop a line. Don’t expect a postcard in your mailbox. I’ll take some blame. But, I always tried to act with grace. While you always made me feel like I was crazy. I gave it the old college try. But I dont think you’re worth time. So I’m saying goodbye, Eli! D - Em(maj7) - G So long, farewell. I did everything I could to help. But you’re not interested in changing for the better. I hope someday, That you can figure out what it takes, To be the kind of person people want to stick with.

I used to see you - In my dreams you - Always made me smile. But now I wonder - What you’re upto - I aint see you in a while. And I know I won’t see you in real life. But I would take the consolation prize - And see you in dreams. I admit, I - Can’t recall quite - How your voice used to sound. But I know it’s true, That if I saw you, I’d Recognize you somehow. And some nights I sketch - A picture in my head. Of how things might have been, if you’d never left.

On sunday mornings, my mom would drive us - To this church inside a little strip mall. After the service, I’d snuff the candles. While she and her friends shared their past lives. Sometimes I’d go play, behind the strip mall - Where the river turned into a stream. The old church ladies would sit and argue - Over the same story everytime. The old church ladies, they said the river - Used to change its colors everyday. Was it some magic? Or was it only - Dye escaping from the mills upstream? I’d search the current - for bits of color - That had yet to find their places. The old church ladies said it was useless. A fool’s errand for a fool like me. I have known places, like candles burning. Leaving blessings in the smoke. On Sunday mornings, they float from churches - Even those tucked away in stripmalls. On Sunday evenings, my mom would drive us - Home from church the long way each time. We’d pass the river, and still I’d watch it. Afterall, it was my favorite color.