You talk of what you’ve done
and have the nerve to criticize me
You speak of missions failed and how much you despise me
You laugh at my defeats, savoring each downfall with great pleasure
Knowing all the time, it’s you who lost―you’ve done nothing to be measured
Myself, I’ve never been content seeking safety from the storm
Stagnation and―a mundane life―result from living in the norm
I took my chances; refused to hide
Sometimes I lost; but I always tried
Sometimes I fell
But I always got up
Always answered the bell, always came back tough
You . . . you’ve made a career out of playing it safe
Gambled only when the odds were in your favor
And you had nothing at stake
I took the long road; you took the short
I’ve come a long way
You’re still docked at the port
It’s easy to laugh at another’s mistakes―
Laugh with your friends and sling mud in my face
While you live with your mother―grow old and get fat
Sip chardonnay with the girls and think you’re where it’s at
Well, if it’s at the bottom―you’re there
But I’m on the high road and when I get to the top
Don’t remember my name, don’t give me a thought
Don’t worry, don’t fret, for I won’t forget you
Nor the things I have learned or the things I’ve been through
One thing before I close, before I’ve said my last word . . .
Let me pause . . . . . . . . .
And say, thanks
For the comeback you’ve spurred
For without your company down in the pits
I’d be doing my time in an assembly line hitch
Living in a trailer with an obese old bitch
Drinking cases of Stroh’s . . .
Scratching my one year―seven year itch
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