I’m not going back to Des Moines…
I gave up what’s left of my voice.
Never felt that I had much a choice—
and near the end, it was like flipping coins.

In a bar down in Bardstown, she spoke—
the words were not perfectly clear,
but I drew what I could from the air.
Then she slipped away in the smoke.

Count to six and sing sweet Heaven,
pick up sticks and switch to seven.
And when you get to eight,
don’t forget to lay them straight.

Buckle my shoe and bite my lip,
cross my eyes and make me sick.
And when my plate is bare,
I’ll lie in bed and sip on nothing.

Dye my eyes and call me pretty;
I’ll ride a plane to New York City,
and when I make it there,
my heart’ll compensate the fare,

I guess I’m settling for less—
but I’m settling for something…

Jesus told me to gouge out my eyes
and not to tell soft little lies.
They should cover my body with flies,
so I’ll always know what’s on the rise.

And I’m not going back to Des Moines,
I know things are never their seeming,
and I couldn’t quite say I’m not dreaming,
and maybe I never was there…

Count to six and sing sweet Heaven,
pick up sticks and switch to seven.
And when you get to eight,
don’t forget to lay them straight.

Buckle my shoe and bite my lip,
cross my eye and make me sick.
And when my plate is bare,
I’ll lie in bed and sip on nothing.

Dye my eyes and call me pretty;
I’ll ride a plane to New York City.
And when I make it there,
my heart’ll compensate the fare,

I guess I’m settling for less,
but I’m settling for something…

One of these days,
I’m going to clean my shoes off.
One of these days…

Count to six and sing sweet Heaven,
pick up sticks and switch to seven.
And when you get to eight,
don’t forget to lay them straight.

Buckle my shoe and bite my lip,
cross my eyes and make me sick.
And when my plate is bare,
I’ll lie in bed and sip on nothing.

Dye my eyes and call me pretty;
I’ll ride a plane to New York City.
And when I make it there,
my heart’ll compensate the fare,

I guess I’m settling for less—
I’m trying to do my best,
still an awful mess,
if that’s something to confess.

I’m settling for less—
the whole thing’s been a test
with too much to digest,
and not a chance to rest.

I’m settling for less,
but I’m settling for something…

One of these days,
I’m going to clean my shoes off.
One of these days…