These days it’s nonstop
The finish line keeps moving
Just waiting on news that won’t come
And I don’t think I’m dead yet
So I must be improving
But some days I envy the bums

And there’s plenty left to do
Like laundry and lawnmowers
And there’s plenty left to drink
That’s on tap
And there’s plenty left to see
Like mountains and molehills
And there’s plenty left to sort
Through- out back

It’s the stupid things really
That keep you most busy
When you’d rather chase Ahab’s white whale
And sure, they might be small mercies
‘Cause they keep your hands full
When you could be swinging tigers by the tail

Still there’s plenty left to hear
Like sonnets and songbirds
And there’s plenty left to taste
In the glass
And there’s plenty left to read
Like Plutarch and Pascal
But hurry up kid
‘Cause your clock’s running fast

They say there’s no pressure
You’ve got your whole life
Don’t sweat the small stuff, have fun
But hey what do they know
Their clocks ticking too
And half of them are still scared to run

Still there’s plenty left to seize
Like diems and dumbbells
And there’s plenty left to burn
In the tank
And there’s plenty left to kill
Like bad habits and bad guys
And there’s plenty left to heal
‘fore the plank

That’s all of it really
From blood-birth to death-dust
And the span of love-lust in between
Finding pleasure in production
And peace in your path
On a dust mote hanging in a sunbeam

Still there’s plenty left to hope for
Like Heaven and Home-runs
And there’s plenty left to love
In her smile
And there’s plenty left to hold to
In the words of the Ancient
Keep running you’ll be home
In a mile
Keep breathing you’ll be home
In a while