When I get home from this long week of work
I won’t hold my breath about changing the world
I can’t mince my words or make peace anymore
I just smile and say have a nice weekend
The rules here keep changing and I can’t keep up
I left here at dawn with my jacket zipped up
Returned in the summer with heavier bags
And the weight of burying dad
When I get drinking I’ll say I deserve
An audience hung onto my every word
A swelling string section to echo the phrase
That gets stuck in their heads for days
But when I get writing, well, those words sound less smart
So what would it take to trade my good health for art?
I know how it feels to patch up that hole
So let’s shake on it some other time
Who’s ever ready to die?