|
I'm sitting wondering, watching the parade |
|
In my ever-present chair |
|
People laughing and smiles all around me |
|
Balloons and paper in my hair |
|
There's a man in a car with the top down |
|
Waving wildly at me "The poor son of a gun", |
|
I know he's thinking |
|
Better him, him than me |
|
I've stared down the devil, and had to look away |
|
Called out to the angels, but no-one ever came |
|
Laid down odd and even, but double zero played |
|
That's alright, |
|
I'm a lucky one |
|
Such a fortunate son |
|
I was always taught well, taught well |
|
To be the strong one and keep it inside |
|
But sometimes |
|
I sit beside the freeway |
|
And howl out at the dark, dark sky |
|
I might just have to go out and burn one |
|
Have a drink or a few |
|
Fade away in a cloudy haze of smoke |
|
And give the old man's best salute |
|
I've stared down the devil, and had to look away |
|
Called out to the angels, but no-one ever came |
|
Laid down odd and even, but double zero played |
|
That's alright, |
|
I'm a lucky one |
|
Such a fortunate son |
