Some wounds stay open forever
And, never healing, hurt for all time
Hurt for all time
Some people fail to recover
From things they saw when they were a child
When they were a child
I can never find contentment
Playing "The Exquisite Corpse"
I polished every sentence
Until the cause was lost
It's not necessarily easy
To keep up with the pace that we've set
The pace that we've set
Some people lose motivation
And, growing older, move less and less
Move less and less
I can never find contentment
Playing "The Exquisite Corpse"
I polished every sentence
Until the cause was lost
If God made me in His image
He must be an atheist
The apple most forbidden
Is still the tastiest
Never one for grace or Halleluiahs
I preferred a love that I could touch
What's a Catholic boy to do?
I never had a clue
Irish cream at 13
Blow at 22
(Oh, if I ever could go back in time
I would want you to be right there with me)
Stupid kid, haunted by the things you never did
Oh, what a sin
Sorry son, hung up on the things you should've done
Son of a gun
Stupid kid, haunted by the things you never did
Oh, what a sin