I'm sick of writing my songs In solitary confinement; Tired of wasting my time, Watching life outside the window. I'm sick of losing my mind, Making mountains out of molehills. Tired of eggs in baskets, And bridges before I cross them. I'm sick of pearls before swine, And silk purses from a sow's ear. Tired of making things rhyme, To live another lost weekend. I'm sick of selling my soul, By signing a serpent's contract; Tired of making a deal, And sold to the lowest bidder. I'm sick and tired of what's required, This job leaves a lot to be desired. Sick and tired of being inspired; Under employed And feeling Retired.more