I pushed it hard, 
that [bad word] wrecking ball, 
and I waited for the weight to swing around but it never did. 
And the crows they fell 
around my eyes and still 
no sign of that ball and chain. 

I pushed it hard, 
that [bad word] wrecking ball. 
What kind of pendulum [bad word] back home? 
You start to miss it some. 
The way you miss the rain, 
the way you miss the fighting when the war is won... 

But what I miss the most is knowing just exactly where it hurts, 
is knowing just exactly what is wrong. 
And what I want, and what I want... 

I miss the ghost trees, 
the weary midnight drives, 
the taste of loneliness in the air beyond the towns. 
I miss the resonance of those trigger words, 
that crazy one track mind. 
Sometimes I miss the cold... 

But what I miss the most is knowing just exactly where it hurts, 
is knowing just exactly what is wrong. 
And what I want, and what I want... 

I'm remembering the [bad word] down in shades of blue, 
the sorrow of the aftermath tightening the noose. 
I'm thinking of the night that all the lights went out, 
and how I learned to see in the dark, in the dark, in the dark... 

I pushed it hard, that [bad word] wrecking ball. 
What kind of pendulum [bad word] back home?