Happy birthday, you're halfway to 60
You have no land of your own
A job you despise
And a lover that's mean

And you started noticing a disturbing thing

Birds eating other birds just beyond the screen

So you packed up your things and hopped on the freeway headed east

And you drove for eight days aimlessly
Telling yourself to be humble
Singing to yourself to be free

Being full aware that it's a middle aged crisis type thing

And you drove 'til you saw a sign for a town called Luckey
Spelled L-U-C-K-E-Y

Where the sugar towers rise til the line and meet the streets

Checked into a motel, slept on cardboard sheets

I covered the bloodstained matress underneath

to Went the local bar and you got yourself a drink

Telling yourself to be humble

Singing to yourself to be free
It's a middle aged crisis type thing

It was the most ragtag group you had ever seen

A slender man with a moustache, a bow tie and nothing between

Looking like a preacher son who had given in the devil-worshipping scene
He was a real looker and he bought you a drink

And you proceeded to tell him everything

And you were getting a bit hysterical it seemed
You laughed like a carburettor then you screamed

Oh the doubt and the disbelief

Telling yourself to be humble
Singing to yourself to be free
It's a middle aged crisis type thing

And he told you how he came to be

As an alterboy by his father's knees
And how he came to lose his faith

There was no touching but advances were made

And his father's hand in slow motion it was approaching him

And the doubt and disbelief crept over his young heart like the black ocean

A stormcloud, a hurricane if you will

A stormcloud, a hurricane

Telling yourself to be humble
Singing to yourself to be free
It's a middle aged crisis type thing

Go home lady, find yourself happy
It's just a middle aged crisis type thing

It's a middle aged crisis type thing

It's a middle aged crisis type thing

It's a middle aged crisis type thing

It's a middle aged crisis type thing

It's a middle aged crisis type thing