And now the end is far
And so I draw the dreary curtains.
My love, I'll do you harm
In this motel, of that I'm certain.
I've lived a life thats dull
I've traveled each and every highway
And more, much more than this,
I did it my way.
Regrets, I've had a few,
But then again, I am one.
I knew what I had to do
And saw it fail without exemption.
I planned each charted course
Each dreary step along the byway,
But more, much more than this,
I fucked it my way.
Yes there were times, I'm sure you knew,
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt,
I just got drunk and lounged about.
I fucked it all and I stood small
And did it my way.
I've loved, I've laughed and cried
I've had my fill; my share of losing.
And now, as tears subside,
I find it all so unamusing.
To think I did all that;
And may I say - not in the right way,
No, oh Lord not me,
I did it my way.
For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has a cock.
To say the words of an imbecile
And not the things he truly feels.
The record shows I couldn't cope -
And did it my way.
6 comments:
is it finite?
Come again?
The split, I guess.
Could it be infinite? Shit maybe it could.
Is it finished, done, final, complete, kaput?
I think so. I'm not the best one to judge. I'm very partial. Right now I wish it finished. In three months when I'm dry humping a pillow, perhaps I'll feel differently.
As it happens, I'm not sure this song is about the split. I think it's about Peter Sellers. I should probably know, but I don't.
Finite or not, pain causes good poetry. Wish it weren't true.
Adieu. Parting is such sweet.
Actually, what I meant to say was that it is all about the bird.
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