Grasping At Straws Worriers

A journal lays unwritten in
And I've got to go to sleep
Before I can be late again
Well, maybe I'll quit tomorrow

There's got to be something more to me
Funny folks
Being so damn angry
Got a white shirt I can borrow?

So much never made sense to me
So much never meant much to me
But it was never much
For us to leave at all

Boss don't even care that much
Quit at noon, buy myself lunch
Sit at the counter feeling sorry
With my hair in my coffee

Some street guy commiserates
And says he has a son my age
I don't know what to say
When he leaves the waitress says that he's crazy

Everyone I know is crazy
Lost in heritage and buried deeply
In this graveyard
At the end of the century