Tall Tale Number 5

I was born on a Sunday, with blood on my hands

in a room full of phonographs and old electric fans

and I slept in a graveyard for bicycles and cars

and I dreamed of distant scenery, but I never strayed too far

Because I do what they ask me

I never run my mouth

and by the time they turn against me

I'll have them figured out

And I learned to lie

By watching you turn to your enemies

And the apple you've got in your eye

Has become a stain you don't want

So I left the city as soon as I could walk

But the buildings loomed like sentinels; it wasn't what I thought

So I slept in your bathtub, while you put your make-up on

And I daydreamed about your lungs 'til your cigarettes were gone

Now I roam because I have to

I'm never welcome long

And thought this road leads to disaster

I've always got my songs

And I learned to laugh

By watching you burn all your photographs

And you're right that the good things won't last

But these wars are never won by our twiddling thumbs

Well, I did what they asked me: I never ran my mouth

And by the time they turned against me, I had them figured out

And now I roam because I have to: I'm never welcome long

And though this road leads to disaster, I've always got my songs

And I learned to die

By watching you choke on your misery

And if the apple is torn from my eye

I won't be alone, because I'm going home