How hearts face
You turn like a phrase
And I fell beside you
It's a shame to let a little skin
Get in the way
And faint praise
The home of the vain
But babe, dreams don't become you
And God, how I wish that I
Could've seen your face
Write another one about your mother
From the vantage of a calloused younger brother
Obliged to write the songs that no one listens to
Well, could you blame them, oh
Oh, could you blame them?
And there's you
In twenty-ought-two
Before this befell you
Still listlessly unaware
Just where you're headed to
And me
Still ten-stone and three
Though worn out, less lovely
Having plainly faced the strain
Of my iniquity
Just write another sad one for your mother
Or this incestuous obsession with your sister
You long to write the songs someone would listen to
But can you blame them?
Well, can you blame them?
No, no, no
Not quite what we used to be
Forestall this lifelong dream
To will yourself to make it
Your once elegant lines
Now so sadly sung
And hot from the heat
Of a freshly empty bus seat
There are no promises in life
And I've never meant to live mine so undignified
But I swear that I won't hesitate next time
No, not next time
Well, you're too kind

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