Stacey Grove he's a roaming prophet of mine,ÂÂ
Hat full of wine.ÂÂ
Stacey Grove he's a roving catcher of skies,ÂÂ
Forecaster of eyes, so no lies.ÂÂ
Dungaree dome is decked like a pagan temple to ZeusÂÂ
He drinks acorn juice.ÂÂ
Roasting his feet by the furnace of peat,ÂÂ
He roars at the boars who massively sleep at his feet.ÂÂ
Antelope head his beard skylark redÂÂ
Is tucked 'neath the good of his summer sun hood.ÂÂ
And now that the gate of his evening is lateÂÂ
He sits on a
It's Rough
When you're down on your luck
Aand you just can't cope
When the times are bleak
And the friends are few
Don't turn to me
'Cause I'm no hope
Don't turn to me
'Cause I don't know what to do
Maybe you should have a drink
I don't know why you ever stopped anyway
Oh, it's rough
Baby, to live
Oh, it's hard
Baby, to survive
Everyday lately
My mind feels like glass
Ready to be smashed
Ready to be smashed
Oh well, my best friend
Took a bullet through his eye
First he had a patch
Now he's got a glass eye
One hard, glass eye
He says sometimes he wishes
Both his eyes were glass
Well, it's rough
Baby, to live
And it's hard
Baby, to survive
Everyday lately
My mind feels like glass
Ready to be smashed
I'm ready to be smashed
At times I lock myself up
In my room
Don't come over
While I listen to a record
I stare at the cover
Don't come over
Don't come over
'Cause I'm no hope to you
I'm no hope to you