lirik lagu eager maniacs - matchsticks
he resides on the corner of drunk and desperation
when your home life is vacant there’s no need to take a vacation
people point and call him vagrant, he prefers to be called a nomad
but it’s sunny out today and the whiskey glow’s not so bad
he takes a slow drag from his hand rolled cigarette
stains adorn his clothes and beard, a mask to hide his intellect
how could he forget about the better days and subplots?
you see: it’s easy to get caught between starvation and gut rot
his mother told him not what to do as a child;
“never let your pride get defiled” she said, then shot him an awkward smile
it’s been a while since he caught the hidden meaning in her words
but now he knows what she knew then, so he laughs at the absurd
life is just a word, you can take it or leave it
he’s standing in the middle watching mother nature’s cleavage
and he can’t believe it: an egg sandwich with extra pepper!
cancer stole his vocal chords so now he’s writing letters
there’s no eraser on the back of a matchstick
no eraser on the back of a matchstick, ain’t it tragic?
there’s no eraser on the back of a matchstick
no eraser on the back of a matchstick, ain’t it tragic?
there’s no eraser on the back of a matchstick
but we can’t all be magic
so he rode through that desert on a horse with a name
the problem is he forgot it, it seems he’d rather change the topic
not to stop the conversation, or to start a confrontation
(it) seems he’s trying to refrain from living a life of frustration
so stay patient ’cause he might get to the point soon
after he rolls another joint, sits back and enjoys doom
you see: it’s coming at high noon; who knows what that means?
while we read between the lines this dude has already lost his dreams
it seems i heard the music stop or change, it’s kinda strange
i remember it like it was yesterday, what a cliche
he came to my home to speak to my father alone
his voice box sounded like a broken microphone, so monotone
when he left alone, he had no tears in his eyes to speak of
after a week of not seeing him he finally got clean cut
laying in a casket, it seems at last it’s time to rest my friend
i haven’t known many good men, but we buried the best of them
there’s no eraser on the back of a matchstick
no eraser on the back of a matchstick, ain’t it tragic?
there’s no eraser on the back of a matchstick
no eraser on the back of a matchstick, ain’t it tragic?
there’s no eraser on the back of a matchstick
but we can’t all be magic
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