From the recording The Dwindling Road
Let's face it, we can't win for losing on this paradoxical hamster's wheel.
The plum, the prize
The gleam in your mind’s eye
But always there is something in the way.
A curve, a catch, an itch you first must scratch
Or maybe just a cost too high to pay.
And if you come to get it
It won’t satisfy for long,
You’ll ferret out its every single flaw.
Your lover’s made of Botox
And your office view is wrong
Your dream house floods with every winter thaw
The woods you love are red in tooth and claw.
A fork up in the road
Always there's a choice you gotta make,
Proceed, veer off, to ante up or fold
To choose at all is also to forsake.
Working means less freedom and
More freedom means less dough
Breaking up means going it alone.
Putting down your roots would mean you can’t just up and go
Travel brings your farther from your home
Can’t enjoy the ruins of ancient Rome.
And the wheel spins on and on and on
And the wheel spins up and down and round
Dusk till dawn,
The point, the plot
You're here and then you're not.
Life is all the busyness between.
It’s chance, design
A baffling paradigm
You take from it whatever you can glean.
Always looking backward as you eye the route ahead
No compasses or maps that you can trust
Your appetite’s a monster always nagging to be fed
Fickle and unruly as the gusts
Coating every path there is in dust.