Lyrics

"No excuses, blame yourself, it's your body, it's your health." I wake up every morning with my hand on my big forehead And I feel it like The Future, which is telescoping forward And then suddenly, I'm 65, and though my body's still alive I feel the pieces pull apart, and I sense the separation Between my idea of myself, and its current habitation Feeling like a demon, I pitch a fit and yell The bath water is draining, but the baby can't tell Spinning circles ever faster, around a vortex of disaster Dirty water tells the story of a life And I can't seem to get it right Despite the repetition of the same old lessons And my best attempts to pay attention We neglect to mention that The Road to Good Intention runs Straight through Hell There is no answer to the question: "What is the meaning of life?" Except the question: "What is the meaning of .....?" And there is no answer to that deafening Silence Except to just shut up