what will i find to do?

 when you showed me the door

it was one i've opened and closed before

no one ever had to tell me how to sweep the floor

or clean my living room

when i stood by your side i was never in a stranger's costume

i always used my own custom-made broom

to clear the dirt away

i woke up every day knowing what i wanted to say

no hastily written script was needed for my play

or ignoring the pain away

if you didn't want any surprise

i recommended using your own eyes

to wash away the confusion and the lies

when the months turned the page to become years

you heard no mindless cheers

i'm not sitting on a bar stool drinking cheap beers

or smoking expensive cigarettes in a cloud of mild regret

and yet

either lonely or in a crowd, i'll never forget

how the changing story goes

whichever way the wind blows

there's anonymous poets writing romantic Broadway shows

where there's always a lady in a white dress

and a well-heeled man who's more than an overnight guest

it's everything i know, i guess

yes, i guess, yes, unless

another clue

points to a different notion of what's true.

then, what will i find to do?

well, i'll have to keep on getting through

it's everything i know, i guess

yes, i guess, 

yes, unless.