i had written it all wrong

with a broken bottle full of empty dreams…
lost somewhere along this old highway,

i ordered up another round…
to wash on down the bitter taste of never-mind…
before I got back on my way,

flash photography of years gone by…
running back inside my mind,
and how those memories I had tried to trap down…
within my rhymes,

the misinterpretations that I sometimes get…
couldn’t be blamed on the words…
for which they came,

but only by the distortion and corruption of…
the delusion of the way this world has told us…
it had to be,

for the truth we know inside us lord…
and it tries to find its way out…
from time to time,

all I can do is pick up a pen…
and write in on a bar napkin…
before they throw me out again…
saying you've had too much my friend…
and I have to go and stumble on my way,

many times the words don’t come out right…
distorted by the climate that I’m in,
and it wasn’t till after many a year gone by…
that i realized I had written it all wrong,

see the hero always get’s the girl…
the villain never gets away…
and karma is more than my stripper friend…
who left me broke and busted…
on the side of that cold highway,

politicians are always looking out for you…
and don’t you ever doubt their words…
because their words are always true,

and good hard work and sacrifice…
always leads to better days and nights,
and no one ever got ahead…
by knocking someone else down,

and the musicians that win the awards…
well…
that's always because of the way they sound,

good guys never finish last…
our mistakes stay in the past…
and there’s always a silver lining…
to every storm,

and if you’re eating up any of this shit…
I’m gonna go out back and take a piss…
and this guitar will play the rest…
and you can just sit there and sing along,

the misinterpretations that I sometimes get…
couldn’t be blamed on the words…
for which they came,

but only by the distortion and corruption of…
the delusion of the way this world has told us…
it had to be,

for the truth we know inside us lord…
and it tries to find its way out…
from time to time,

all I can do is pick up a pen…
and write in on a bar napkin…
before they throw me out again…
saying you've had too much my friend…
and I have to go and stumble on my way, but many times the words don’t come out right…
distorted by the climate…
that I’m in,

and it wasn’t till after many a year gone by…
that i realized I had written it all wrong,