The trouble with poets is they talk too much
They tell us it hurts them a little more
And we cannot tell if they make this up
We've never stood in their shoes, in skins, in their heads, on their shores

The trouble with you is you drive me nuts
I cannot tell what's behind your smile
What can we find just to lift us up
Just for tonight, for a time, for the sake us of all for awhile

I know it's only trouble
I know it makes us real
I wish that peace of mind was something I could steal

The trouble with shoes is [bad word] untied
You might take a fall down the stairs
And a poet [bad word] along and say, "Ain't that just like life"
I think the trouble with poets is they see poetry everywhere

I know it's only trouble
I know it makes us real
But I could use just a month or two or ten to heal

The trouble with time is it don't go back
Or maybe that trouble is with you and me
We are so scared of that fade to black
That we'll push and we'll pull and we'll do anything to be free

I know, I push, I [bad word] I know it's just the deal
I know it's only trouble
Oh, I know it's what makes us real
But I know sometimes, nobody knows
Nobody knows
Not even poets know
How I feel

The trouble with poets is they talk too much (x2)