Lyrics

My room is a museum A lifetime's of my work I am the last Mohican I stand proud although I'm hurt I keep a cup of secrets From which I never drink I am an ancient king Who sits proud but never thinks So if I find one more ring Of yours mixed up among my things I just might sell all my belongings To make sure I've cut all my strings And if I find one more note Crumpled up inside my coat I'm moving back to Carolina Where I'll live out on the coast I have a box of trinkets I count them one by one Each one is a keepsake From a war that I have won I have a daily schedule A comfortable routine Watch months roll by with pleasure Like girls walking down the street I lost all my ambition Could've settled for less But if I can't have you I don't care about the rest If I find one more strand Of black hair under my night stand