The Goldfish

Golden strands of oldies bands
Reach upon me tightening their grip
And it slips
That maybe I’m not really who I’ve been
All these cold dark years
All these cold dark fears

Yeah, maybe
Maybe not really

Gleaming gourds of peppered hoards
Breathe upon me righting their wrongs
And their songs
That sing about the facts of feathered life
And these cold dark years
All these cold dark fears

Yeah maybe
Maybe not really

The goldfish floats on floaty boats
He eats and eats and eats and eats
Grows some feets
And maybe I’m not really who I’ve been
All these cold dark years
All these cold dark fears

Yeah maybe
Maybe not really