Call it fate or a mistake
But I'm always running late
Whether it's in to morning work
Or out to nightly dinner dates

Never have I been early
At anything I do
Except to say that I'll be late
But that you already knew

It's been that way from the beginning
Starting with my nine and a half month birth
Inside of the womb, slept till way past noon
For all that I was worth

Still feel I'm in my teenage years
Late at growing up
But I must say the way adults act these days
Don't think I'm missing much

I may even be late for my own funeral
But would that be a crime
I ask who out there wouldn't care
If they missed their day of dying

So call it fate or a mistake
One or another, either way
All I can say is that to this day
I'm always running late