Folk song

It's like picking up the pieces is a daily chore
Thinking of your timecard forms a habit
Watching rich folks on TV's like picking a sore
Fuck it all, they can have it

Now I'm loaded like a gun again
Like a plague of locusts, heaven-sent
Just a ball of dissension with a death perception
I won't sweat the definition of content

They said better safe than sorry, and look out for number one
I heard only play the cards you're shown
Fuck what they say, it doesn't matter anyway
Only in your grave are you alone

Like grown men staring with little boys' eyes
And actresses speaking with conviction
These people should demand a Pulitzer Prize
For various works of fiction

Judge a book by its cover and keep one eye on your back
I heard only play the cards you're shown
I say fuck what they say, it doesn't matter anyway
Only in your grave are you alone

So many people with so much to show
Rotting away in their own little holes
One can only wonder why

I'll celebrate my home
But know that I'm not alone
Only fools are along for the ride

I'm thinking of the size
Of this world that's right outside
Please don't waste it trying to hide