The Easy Mark & the Old Maid

Some men collapse at the racetrack
 Their wrong and beat up, their eyes black
 Others wilt in casinos
 Roll dice and piss away speedboats
 Some dissolve into bar stools
 Scratched off in boxes and playoff pools
 I spent myself on a psychic
 I lost my way and a friend said she would find it
 Man, we were wrong.
 Man, we were wrong.
 I asked for the future,
 She only sang me a song.
 Some men they go make their own luck
 Grow fat from feeding on lame ducks
 The easy mark and the old maid
 The invalid and the ingrate
 Others wait for that high sign
 Some holy hoax in the tree-line
 Me, I'm counting my canned food
 Bunkered down waiting out our slingshot moods
 But what if I'm wrong?
 What if I'm wrong?
 I'll open my doors up
 People, come sweep me along.
 Eyes are fixed and my palms are spread
 Dissonance floats my shipwrecked head
 God sleeps in the Gaza strip
 And man alone's left alone to live with it
 The coin-flip faith of the optimist
 It's beginners luck in a sewing kit
 What's to do when there is no fix
 On the unflinching ambivalence?
 But you say that's wrong
 Hopeless and wrong
 We re-thread your needle,
 You say, "God, play along."