Feathers

Well I was blessed with a roving eye,
A winning smile and a pack of lies,
And as I roamed from town to town,
I found out what makes the world go round.
And it’s not love, and it’s not gold,
It’s not a young child’s cry or respect for the old,
It’s how you make the best of things,
How you stroke feathers,
And how you clip wing…
My best freind’s wife was skin and bone,
I spent my life trying to get her alone,
And one fine day I did just that,
But as we kissed, my heart fell flat,
I knew right then that I’d done wrong,
And swore that day to change my song,
But I can’t play on broken strings,
So I stroked her feathers,
Then I clipped her wings…
When I can guess how this will end,
In a run down room with a worn out friend,
Or on a lonely road as the miles creep by,
To a one horse town where the wells run dry,
But I don’t make plans, I don’t look back,
I just slip and slide between the cracks,
And I just take whatever life begins,
I stroke feathers,
And I clip wings,
Yeah, I stroke featers,
And I clip wings…