Look at this mess, he thought he was cheatin’ God

She leaves in the autumn, his face like a beaten dog

Now he’s become everything that you hate

He’s just in time to be too late

Friends are like snowflakes, his lies are confessions

Behold the old man and his ruined possessions

He can’t play guitar, but he does try very hard

Pens from hotel rooms, old library cards,

photos and whatnots, blood in his boots,

sun in his eyes, an anchor instead of roots

Clocks on every wall, fish in the ocean

Solitude, faith, suspicion, commotion

The hole in his stomach tastes like words,

he dreams and imagines his face like hers

He knows he can’t live without his greatest fears

and nothing’s more beautiful than a woman’s tears.