This country is my canvas;
I leave paint trails as I go.
I'm painting a picture
That you can only see from outer space.
My bedroom is your sofa,
I take my breakfast on the train,
I'm tired and I'm dirty, and not a second goes to waste.

I'll be dead but never dying, and I say that with a smile.
It's just my way of trying to be alive.

Well I'll never get to grey hair,
And I'll never be in the black.
But I can tell stories that most can hardly dream.
Dreaming is a luxury,
Like stopping-staring and beauty sleep.
I'll stop when I'm finished,
And sleep is for the week.

Heaven's in the half-light, and that's where I reside,
With whiskey and a wry smile,
I check my vital signs.

And when I'm gone,
The worlds revolve, and life goes on.
So mark no grave,
Forget my name,
If the song remains,
And everybody's got a drink and a smile,
Well, that's just fine by me.