so sing me a song
pick up that guitar
and tiny harmonica
turn on the ***** and whistle along
we'll act like we're great,
*** when we're together, we're great,
sing me the song of our lives

(i am home
goodnight, brother,
i am home)

we dance with spoons and spatulas
forks and whisks and tongs
we use then for their real purpose,
because we know what they're really for...
unnecessarily profane songs
that's why they're in our kitchen
that's why they're in our hands
right where they belong

put on your disguise
smile like there is no wrong
with breaking heart chords

they're gone
to the south and to the north and then later some east
all packed up
intellectualism and sleep goes great with their whiskey and racket
rolling away
for the thrill

late, or early
i'll bring the scissors  
you bring the heat
they'll be only our eyes, so
they'll be no puppeteer
because we don't have strings
you're a real boy

walking alone from the home i remember
pile of pennies
two years last september
surrounded by friends
it used to be our time
now viral repeated's
the least of our new crimes

i remember when one sip was such a rebellion
now we drink the ocean
hope our lack of devotion
won't put us in coffins alone