Some men collapse at the racetrack Their wrong and beat up, their eyes black Others wilt in casinos Roll dice and piss away speedboats Some dissolve into bar stools Scratched off in boxes and playoff pools I spent myself on a psychic I lost my way and a friend said she would find it Man, we were wrong. Man, we were wrong. I asked for the future, She only sang me a song. Some men they go make their own luck Grow fat from feeding on lame ducks The easy mark and the old maid The invalid and the ingrate Others wait for that high sign Some holy hoax in the tree-line Me, I'm counting my canned food Bunkered down waiting out our slingshot moods But what if I'm wrong? What if I'm wrong? I'll open my doors up People, come sweep me along. Eyes are fixed and my palms are spread Dissonance floats my shipwrecked head God sleeps in the Gaza strip And man alone's left alone to live with it The coin-flip faith of the optimist It's beginners luck in a sewing kit What's to do when there is no fix On the unflinching ambivalence? But you say that's wrong Hopeless and wrong We re-thread your needle, You say, "God, play along."