Old So-And-So

blankly I stare into the room,

dark brooding and full of doom,

and I shrug at what I see inside

the way they mope like someone died,

when the world around them is full of light

they stand on the defensive, it's fight or flight

ready for the worst to offend their sensibilities

like men shouting hoarsely of booze and titties

they, on the inside, are like a mortified housewife

her ears appalled by their manners strife

They say the world has gone to pot,

And whether this is true or not

its no excuse to sit so sadly

And steam so madly,

for what's past is past.

blankly I stare into this room

dark, brooding, and full of doom

and I want to set it on fire

turn it into a fanciful pyre

where troubles and worries come for reduction,

where if you come in with them you leave with nothin'

But the hopes of a tomorrow,

Where you're free of such sorrow

That you found in that shadowed box,

Where the happy and free constantly knocks,

Urging the hopeless into the sun,

To forget all their shit, and have some fun.

They always say it like it or not,

That the world has gone to pot,

and while they madly,

sit sadly,

the past is past.

blankly I stare into the room,

dark, brooding, and full of doom

And my mind wonders aloud,

If some hope could be allowed

Even if it should be force fed,

to save the dying from the dead,

Hope would certainly serve them right,

But they lock themselves up so good and tight,

Don't they see that what keeps them there,

What keeps in their minds, sorrow everywhere,

Is the thoughts they won't let go,

Because of what someone said, old so-and-so.