Timmy sits out on the boardwalk Writing in his book of poems A young girl walks up behind him Looking slightly tired and worn
She reminds him of another That he used to call his wife She tries hard to be his lover So he'll write about her life
So he reads his book of stories Someone is listening tonight Written in the blood and glories Of the battles that he fights
Timmy's standing at the alter With his girlfriend by his side Bullets wait for him in the desert As he takes her for his bride So he went into the army With a gun he could not shoot With her picture and his papers Safely tucked inside his boot
Timmy sits inside a barroom Buying someone else a scotch Half asleep she sits there listening Staring blankly at his crotch