This town is dead.
This world is rotting.
I've seen this country's fifty states

And I've forgotten

Every name and every place.

I've drank my way through every hour of
Every day I've spent away from home


It doesn't mean %#@! to me
Because I didn't see it with you.
It doesn't mean %#@! to me alone.


This brain is dead.
This body's rotting.

I came, I saw,
I've never conquered anything.


I've spent my life in vans, on tours,
In rich men's homes,
On poor men's floors.

I've sold my soul to find a shred of hope.

It doesn't mean %#@! to me

because I didn't find it with you.
It doesn't mean %#@! to me alone.


And some day I'll be gone,
and this all forgotten,
with these cold and lonely words.


Someday I'll be dead,
and this all for nothing,

and she'll live the way she should.

But when you see her remind her I tried

And tell Lucia to remember I tried.