Out Of Breath

Oh, somewhere down the road
Well, there’s a ditch or there’s a hole
That marks the spot where you will lie when you are cold
And you can run and you can hide
And you can bitch and you can whine
But you’ll never save your life
When you meet death, be out of breath
And say you’re pleased to see him 'cause you’re tired
Now you can go down with the wreck
Or you can scurry from the deck
But there’s no way to save your skinny little neck
And you can pray to who you please
And you can fall down on your knees
But your feet will still get wet
When you meet death, be out of breath
And say you’re pleased to see him 'cause you’re tired
Of wondering how much time you’ve got left
Of worrying that you’re no good at chess
It’s your funeral anyway
Choose your game
Then let’s play
Yeah, when you meet death, be out of breath
And say you’re pleased to see him
In fact you’re waiting for this meeting
And well, frankly his time-keeping leaves a lot to be desired
So tell that hooded huckster that he’s fired