ordinary conceit
I’m living in borrowed land, borrowed time.
I’m holding on to your hand but you’re not mine.
Even your kiss is a near miss.
There’s no address on a land mine.
My memories of the future are just about gone.
But please don’t misinterpret when I say,
“I’m just carrying on”.
The ordinary doesn’t exist.
It’s a public relation’s lie.
Saturday night getting pissed
Is not the answer to do or die.
There’s gold in them there hills
But there’s also bear too.
Which of them belongs there
Is not the decision of the twenty-four hour news.
There’s room enough for both
And sweetheart there’s also room enough for me and you.
Fact is it’s a conceit to think that the ordinary
Ain’t magic enough to see all of us through.