slow to marry, swift to die,
we leave disasters where they lie
i know these lines look crooked on paper,
but i swear i got it straight in my head
and if you’re looking for somebody to blame, i recommend the dead
(i recommend the dead ‘cause they never answer back).

skinny dipping in the lake,
i got the itch, i drank the wake
would somebody please hand me a towel?
and now we’re up on molehill mountain,
scraping coins out of the fountain
with the retinue of dirty old young, young men (again).
but when i get back from nashville,

i’m renting a room in the loyalty building,
i’m sure that the prospects are sound in the event of calamitous circumstance
or great good fortune.
there must be a reason, there must be a plan.

a palace in receivership,
a jester with a busted lip,
a catalog of crooked answers...
we’ve all heard about the rapist nun.
she pulled a switch on everyone.
the altar boys aren’t having fun
and the papacy is drawing up the papers
(behind closed doors).
but in the me-heanwhile...

i’m renting a room in the loyalty building
i’m sure that the prospects are sound in the event of calamitous circumstance
or great good fortune
there must be a reason there must be a plan.