P.O. Box Third Barstool on the Right

You say you can’t handle how I’m living
You don’t like the way my nights turn into days
I got a hint ’bout how you feel, when the door slammed on my heels
You won’t have to tell me twice to go away
But if you ever come back to your senses
And decide you want me back around
I’m parking my behind, underneath a neon sign
I found myself place to settle down

If you change you mind, write back and let me know
Or call and ask directions, and I’ll tell you where to go
You can find me home, here each and every night
Or send a letter, care of lonesome
P.O. box third barstool on the right

My next door neighbor’s knocking back a cold one
Across the street’s a row of 80 proof
I toss whiskey shots and beer, mixed with bitter tears
And chase ’em with a memory cold, and blue
Peering through my shot glass at thin illusion
And I contemplate the suitcase at my side
If I want a home-cooked meal, it’s time to cut a deal
Then I’ll leave this halfway house behind

So if you change you mind, write back and let me know
Or call and ask directions, and I’ll tell you where to go
You can find me home, here each and every night
Or send a letter, care of lonesome
P.O. box third barstool on the right

 

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