| It’s clear to us this love affair
|
| Has self combusted everywhere
|
| And I don’t feel so debonair
|
| My piano collects dust
|
| A funeral with no mourners
|
| I wish that I’d turned corners
|
| To see the signs that warn us
|
| But I didn’t make a fuss
|
| Well, my life keeps on spinnin'
|
| It’s this drunken procession
|
| I can’t learn my lessons
|
| These plates that I’m spinnin'
|
| Soon they’ll smash on the ground
|
| Make a loud crashing sound
|
| And I am still an open book
|
| And you can have a secret look
|
| Inside
|
| Inside
|
| As children make their way to class
|
| I sit and raise another glass
|
| 'Cause you don’t dwell much on the past
|
| When it keeps haunting you
|
| Oh, the marching band stomps down the block
|
| And makes the babies' cradles rock
|
| And my keys, they don’t turn the lock
|
| Perhaps I don’t want them to
|
| Well, my life keeps on spinnin'
|
| It’s this drunken procession
|
| I can’t learn my lessons
|
| These plates that I’m spinnin'
|
| Soon they’ll smash on the ground
|
| Make a loud crashing sound
|
| And I am still an open book
|
| And you can have a secret look
|
| Inside
|
| Inside
|
| Well, my life keeps on spinnin'
|
| It’s this drunken procession
|
| I can’t learn my lessons
|
| These plates that I’m spinnin'
|
| Soon they’ll smash on the ground
|
| Make a loud crashing sound
|
| And I am still an open book
|
| And you can have a secret look
|
| And I am still an open book
|
| And you can have a secret look
|
| And I am still an open book
|
| And you can have a secret look
|
| Inside
|
| Inside |