Nothing ever happens, nothing really interesting.

You keep on pulling pages from the calendar in the kitchen.

Day after day, month after month;

The same old tale of poorness and of fear of what's to come.

Your wallet's full of dust.

Your house is full of ghosts.

Your dreams have dried and shrunk.

All that once was yours they stole.

It's fine though,

keep on walking through the mud.

It's fine though,

buy and sell all of your hope.

It's fine though,

keep your eyes and your mouth shut.

It's fine though,

take a breath and let it go.