Old TownYa got a tough job.
At 1 O’clock, I was, at the post office.
Uhh, but uh, (foolish laughter) you dick!
I’m reaching a point where I can’t care much more.
Think I finally see this for what it may be.
I’ve come to look upon life as some
post-explosion, sitting among the debris.
I’m reaching out to pick up the pieces,
to pick up the pieces,
there’s Too Many Pieces!
I need you to help me to pick up the pieces,
to pick up the pieces,
there’s Too Many Pieces of me,
of me.
I’m reaching a place where I can recognize
certain patterns repeating on down the line.
I’m reading this as if it were tea leaves,
and can predict where I will be in time.
I’m reaching out to pick up the pieces, to pick up the pieces, there’s Too Many Pieces!
I need you to help me to pick up the pieces, to pick up the pieces, there’s Too Many Pieces of mine,
of mine.
How’s it going?
Too many pieces,
Are you ready? This is he!
At 1 O’clock I was at the post office.
Who’s gonna let you ride?
I was,
Walk down the alley way, walking down the great divide.
Uh, but uh, well how’s it going?
Too Many Pieces.
Are you ready? This is he!
I’m reaching down and touching again with my heart
something I’m recalling I once had held dear.
Now this just seems rather useless to me.
Reason for this is becoming increasingly clear.
I’m reaching out to pick up the pieces, to pick up the pieces, there’s Too Many Pieces!
I need you to help me to pick up the pieces, there’s Too Many Pieces, Too Many Pieces I fear.
This is he! Hey! How you doing’? What’s happening?
I fear.
At 1 O’clock, I was, at the post-office.
Too Many Pieces,
Too Many Pieces,
Too Many Pieces,
Too Many Pieces,
Yes,
Too Many Pieces,
I made a bullshit request.
Too Many Pieces,
I did nothing. I walked around the office.
I shuffled around some papers. I walked around the post office.
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