The Old Gospel Choir

There’s a tombstone in the brush
With your name on the front
But I had no bucks to get «Here lies They-Ran-Outta-Luck»
On the back of it
Sharp as a tack, but in the sense
That you’re not smart, just a prick
In my finger or my toe, ripping staggered holes
All the way to my chest
All the way to my chest
But every tremble in your voice still echoes in my ears
One good night of sleep per year
There’s a tombstone in the brush
With my name on the front
But I had no guts to get «Here lies He-Ran-Outta-Luck»
On the back of it
Sharp as a tack, but in the sense
That I’m not smart, just a prick
In the fingers and the toes
Of all of those who show interest in me
And from where I’m standing
It looks like I’m way long overdue
I know what you meant when you said, «Fuck you»
Breaking up never felt so cruel
And now, I’m tired, and now, I’m dead to me
Can we act like we never broke each other’s hearts?
At least mine—I don’t know how you felt from the start
Oh, that’s vile, oh, I’m cruel, oh, it’s goddamn mean
I sure as Hell know one thing:
You sure ain’t dead to me