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smoke bummer's union boss, hundredaire
windowless houses but I don't live there
everyone looks happy so why would I care
I got the skin, you got the hair
you and I have different regrets
mine exotic vintages i've not tasted yet
scars on your long brown neck
blood stained teeth they keep your mouth in check

but I can't take you with me...
some things were never meant to be
all the well-heeled ladies, they might see
so I can't take you with me

maybe I might slum my way through you
makes for stories I can't write but surely I can use
not that I might not fall hard too
but I will lay back in my silken sheets when we are through

I go back to my domestic bliss
you go back to your bombed out aimlessness
Did I see you outside the union mess
holding court like there was nothing here to miss...

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