Getting steamed up at tresses fair Each strand's an opportunity, to be, to dare To make a mark on this world Because it’s gold not grey
Her docs have not been stamped at the bygone border So even at her dullest hatefullest they all adored her While your calendar’s just wizened The pages up and flown away
It's not a crisis It's just the fine mess that life is You gonna take this, Stanley? And whittle your life away You should be racing Unlike the other animals grazing And you can scrape through threadbare Maybe you could make it pay
You're picking off the scab, days are leaves off a tree Like victims in your crosshair, you know those packs of Big D And silence is the answer When your popcorn's done
You're staring in the mirror at eroded cliffs Encampment of past tents, army of what ifs You envy all potential And you're jealous of webs just spun
It's not a crisis It's just the fine mess that life is You gonna take this, Stanley? And whittle your life away You should be racing Unlike the other animals grazing And you can scrape through shopworn Maybe you could seize the day
What follows? You've been feeling taunted since you saw the prize. Tomorrow? You've been feeling haunted since you realised.
You’ve been feeling haunted since you smelt blood
It's not a crisis It's just the fine mess that life is You gonna take this, Stanley? And whittle your life away You should be racing Unlike the other animals grazing And you can scrape through sunbleached Maybe just seize the day Maybe just make it pay Or maybe you can... find your way