Lyrics

I am behind the 8-ball when I'm behind the wheel
Tired of tires breaking my karma with a squeal
My dinner companions think I'm stuck in the bog
but I don't know if I am the scorpion or the frog

And though when I drive down the street
I wish that I'd kept the receipt
This planet is God's gift to me

Our love has turned toxic, and we're stuck in the sludge
Time and again I've botched it and you've nurtured a grudge
Being true to my nature takes some practice and skill
when I'm grooving along and you cut in for the kill

Though I know you mean no deceit
Sometimes I look for the receipt
But still you are God's gift to me

There's a voice inside my head that I've got to evict
It's a traitor that's fed me poisoned eggs Benedict
For disturbing my peace, training in me in self-loathing
It can rot in the cold wearing emperor's clothing

Though sometimes I remit defeat
and wish that I'd kept the receipt
I know that I'm God's gift
I know that I'm God's gift to me

-- Dolph L. Chaney, 19th Oct 2002, 1:19pm