THE MESS.

I'm sorry 'bout the mess God washed his hands and left Said a prayer for your purse and your pets Bend your knees and purse your lips Got to take what's coming Because that's all there is I'm sorry 'bout the mess My appearance and bad breath And the news that you've been left, bereft Comb your hair and shine your shoes Got to take what's coming And sing those resurrection blues Lalalalalalala Lalalalalalala I'm sorry 'bout the mess I'm in a game of mental chess With all the fucking things again The patterns are a mystery Got to take what's coming The slowest heart attack in history Ya ya ya Lalalalalalala Lalalalalalala I'm sorry 'bout the mess I turned the house into confetti A moth writhes like a burning witch I could smash up the gaff with a big fuck-off machete The bugs coming made me itch Covered in blood and spaghetti I'm sorry about the mess and I must address I'm stuck inside my head like something sticky The shade I'm in can keep me Pour another cup of death wish in a bowl of dog's heart chilli Be still my bleeding arse Dream blind my hermit heart I'm sorry 'bout the mess I'm afraid I've been silly I've swallowed thirty years of stress It's blown myself apart To paint the town and city And call it modern art Uh Lalalalalalala Lalalalalalala Lalalalalalala Lalalalalalala Lalalalalalala