I stick my head out of the door
To grab my paper from the porch
Just like I did yesterday
Saw my neighbour washing his car
He raised his hand and said
Hey, how are you buddy?
I can’t complain
It’s just another day in paradise
He laughed and went back to work
I wish it was the same for me, he said
My wife left me yesterday.
I resisted the urge to say, it was no surprise
Then he added, oh well, it was coming.
The miracle is that she stayed this long
I nodded and said, well what can you do?
It’s what I say when I have nothing to say.

Then he said
Why don’t you come on over
We’ll drink some whiskey and get fucked up
We’ll talk about
Why the world is against us
Until the sun comes up
Then we’ll wait to see what tomorrow brings
I’m sorry buddy, I can’t wait that long
We’ll turn the radio on
To hear what the country singer sings
I’ll kill myself if I hear a country music song

Woke up the next morning
After two or three solid hours of sleep
Took my pounding brain outside
The summer sun burned through my eyes
Out to run errands, here we go again
Post office, grocery shopping, and a couple more
Can’t forget about the LCBO (Like I ever would)
I need my tonic for the weekend
This sounds like a fucking country song

Maybe they are right, whoever they are
Maybe you do make your own excitement
Perhaps I’ll run into traffic blindfolded
Wait for the sound of screeching tires and breaking bones
Or I could just rock my rocking chair faster than normal
Brace myself to tip backwards off a cliff
Or at least down onto the floor
I’ll end up just doing what I always do
Wait to see what tomorrow brings
Sorry, I just can’t wait that long
Turn the radio on
To hear what the country singer sings
I hate, hate, hate that Goddamn song

I want this merry-go-round to speed up
Because I want to get off (but she’s not here)
Throw me on to the pile of broken glass and rusty nails
Or maybe onto the soft lush grass
I’ll fiddle while Rome burns in the August sun
It’s what I do and what I have always done
It’s just another day in paradise
If paradise turned into hell
Pope Francis says that hell doesn’t exist
He hasn’t hung out with me at all.
We’ll wait together to see what tomorrow brings
Probably some sin and absolution
We’ll turn the radio on and hear what Bob Dylan sings
That can be the only solution

I stick my head out of the door
To grab my paper from the porch
Just like I did yesterday
Saw my neighbour washing his car
He raised his hand and said
Hey, how are you buddy?
I can’t complain
It’s just another day in paradise
He laughed and went back to work
I wish it was the same for me, he said
My wife left me yesterday.
I resisted the urge to say, it was no surprise
Then he added, oh well, it was coming.
The miracle is that she stayed this long
I nodded and said, well what can you do?
It’s what I say when I have nothing to say.

Then he said
Why don’t you come on over
We’ll drink some whiskey and get fucked up
We’ll talk about
Why the world is against us
Until the sun comes up
Then we’ll wait to see what tomorrow brings
I’m sorry buddy, I can’t wait that long
We’ll turn the radio on
To hear what the country singer sings
I’ll kill myself if I hear a country music song

Woke up the next morning
After two or three solid hours of sleep
Took my pounding brain outside
The summer sun burned through my eyes
Out to run errands, here we go again
Post office, grocery shopping, and a couple more
Can’t forget about the LCBO (Like I ever would)
I need my tonic for the weekend
This sounds like a fucking country song

Maybe they are right, whoever they are
Maybe you do make your own excitement
Perhaps I’ll run into traffic blindfolded
Wait for the sound of screeching tires and breaking bones
Or I could just rock my rocking chair faster than normal
Brace myself to tip backwards off a cliff
Or at least down onto the floor
I’ll end up just doing what I always do
Wait to see what tomorrow brings
Sorry, I just can’t wait that long
Turn the radio on
To hear what the country singer sings
I hate, hate, hate that Goddamn song

I want this merry-go-round to speed up
Because I want to get off (but she’s not here)
Throw me on to the pile of broken glass and rusty nails
Or maybe onto the soft lush grass
I’ll fiddle while Rome burns in the August sun
It’s what I do and what I have always done
It’s just another day in paradise
If paradise turned into hell
Pope Francis says that hell doesn’t exist
He hasn’t hung out with me at all.
We’ll wait together to see what tomorrow brings
Probably some sin and absolution
We’ll turn the radio on and hear what Bob Dylan sings
That can be the only solution