Slow to marry, swift to die,
We leave disasters where they lie,
I know these lines look crooked on paper,
But I swear I got it straight in my head,
And if you're looking for somebody to blame,
I recommend the dead, I recommend the dead,
'Cause they never answer back.
Skinny dipping in the lake,
I got the itch, I drank the wake,
Could somebody please hand me a towel?,
And now we're up on molehill mountain,
Scraping coins out of the fountain,
With a retinue of dirty old young, young men again.
But when I get back from Nashville,
I'm renting a room in the loyalty building,
I'm sure that the prospects are sound,
In the event of calamitous circumstance,
Or great good fortune,
There must be a reason, there must be a plan.
A palace in receivership,
A jester with a busted lip,
A catalogue of crooked answers,
We've all heard about the rapist nun,
She pulled a switch on everyone,
The altar boys are not having fun,
And the papacy is drawing up the papers behind closed doors.
But in the meanwhile,
I'm renting a room in the loyalty building,
I'm sure that the prospects are sound,
In the event of calamitous circumstance,
Or great good fortune,
There must be a reason, there must be a plan.
