The Home Stretch

If the day off doesn't get you

Then the bad reviewer does

At least you've been a has-been

And not just a never-was

And you know it's not a mountain

But no mole hill is this big

And you promise to quit drinking

As you light another cig

Once again you're in the home stretch

But you're not sure where you live

You recall a small apartment

And a government you give

Large amounts of money to

So you're allowed to stay

And rest until you're well enough

To leave again and play

You are making human contact

With the postcards that you send

To the children of your ex-wifes

And a woman, your girlfriend

Who is living in a city

Thousands of miles away

That is full of young male models

Not all of whom are gay

In the meanwhile you've stopped writing songs

There's nothing left to say

You'd like to get your old job back

And mow lawns again one day

But you keep lifting up your left leg

Sticking out your tongue

There's nothing else that you can do

And you're too old to die young!

Too many beds, too many towns

Not much to declare zones

London broils and Tuna Melts on dirty microphones

While the sound man's falling fast asleep

The light man's been up for days

The club owner and arithmetic

Have long since parted ways

As for the lovely audience

Tonight they're rather cold

But they're prepared to listen

All they have to be is told

If the day off doesn't get you

Then the bad reviewer does

At least you've been a has-been

And not just a never-was