Waiting for Godot

Early morning trembles shake the ash right off your smoke,
Contemplating nursery rhymes & broken radios.
Falling off the wall is something everybody knows, but it gets old.
& worlds are crumbling inside all those cookie cutter homes,
While outside we're all fighting for the right to turn to stone.
Rolling through the motions isn't half as
fun as tumbling on the road... but it gets old.

& every night a child is born alone I
sit & listen for the world to take a breath.
But nothing stops the turning of the
globe quite like a rich man's death.
& the poor boys with their thumbs out in the
cold, they're the ones left waiting for Godot.

Trailer parks are always first in line to feel the flames.
Today I watched that old wallpaper curl & float away.
The rain came down to wash it all to mud, but the water fell too late.
So Carrie Ann & I packed up that old Cabriolet &
drove it 'til the wheels fell off near Mexico way.
I stood in line to work out on an oil rig & cried as Carrie waved.

Each night as I fall down so alone I sit
& listen for the world to take a breath.
But nothing stops the turning of the
globe quite like a rich man's death.
& the poor boys with their thumbs out in the
cold, they're the ones left waiting for Godot.

Busted flat remembering how my old man used to say,
"Some grow into millionaires & some just fade away.
The sun still sets on everyone in time, no matter what you've made."
But no one wants the memories of soup lines & mistakes,
& I can't help but wonder how the summers feel in Spain.
Sometimes there's a flicker in a
hubcap that takes those thoughts away.

Still each night I lay frozen to the bone I
sit & listen for the world to take a breath.
But nothing stops the turning of the
globe quite like a rich man's death.
& the poor boys with their thumbs out in the
cold, they're the ones left waiting for Godot.