I know I’ve got it made, I know my life is sweet,
but every single day I feel so incomplete.
There’s pain in growing old, in seeing dreams cast off,
in drifting out to sea, in counting naught but costs.
A thousand things to do and nothing’s going right,
I’m here in paradise, I’m here with dearest wife.
The waves crash on the shore but she holds tight my hand,
joy is ever bridled when you’re an anxious man.
My health has yellow flags, but I’ve been greatly blessed
most of board’s lights are green, still on reds I obsess.
Obsession does not lead to changes in action,
seems that ol’ Mick and me eschew satisfaction.
It’s not like I don’t know how cozy is my niche
it’s just that coziness don’t make me feel complete.
Complete and utter fool is what I know I am
but these palpitations haunt me, the anxious man.
I have not the bedrock of Jesus’ friend Saint Pete
and I’ve madre Dios to suckle me so sweet.
For I am bathing in mothers’ milk and honey,
was it sweet, sticky stuff gave me upset tummy?
I’ve coffee for my cup and sugar for my tea,
it is the rarest man who is more blessed than me.
But even though I know how fortunate I am
no matter the Pablum remain an anxious man.
Cannot find words to say, iambic’s not my beat,
that can dispel my pain, set me back on my feet.
So I will carry on in way un-stoically
kvetching ’bout my world that’s a great place to be.
For although common sense, and slice from bread of life,
both show I’ve got it made still full of angst and strife.
So come down to the sea and with me jump on in
for fear from fears might drown, we sailors anxious men.
There is no end in sight, forever seems the sea,
and I am but a cork that bobs round endlessly.
Sun is on horizon, beginning of new day
though I’m feeling anxious with my goddess I’ll play.
For she is my sunbeam shining through the storm clouds,
I’ll whistle through graveyard to help me stand up proud.
Every day’s a struggle, need lifeline back to sand
for her I’ll keep swimming, dear wife of anxious man.