Death by Ukulele

I guess I'll pick up where my ego's cup Left a huge ring on the table's top The one with the scuffs and the missing leg The one that I flipped when the scorched skin said Saturn's rings, and hornet stings, and halations can't come first Tomorrow brings the only things I don't have to rehearse Solar flares, and angel hair, and I just can't concur Lack of air, wish I prepared, but it'd just make you burn Can't a man play a song on your bed, and just maybe be left alive Can't a man with a skull in his hand and some reasons, smolder the hive So I stop in the spot where Missouri ends, and hope like hell that concrete won't bend Can't a dunce ford a river for once without spilling all of his drinks again But Saturn's rings, and hornet stings, and halations can't come close Can't a man play a song on your bed, and just maybe sew up his ghost? I guess I'll pick up where my ego's moon Left me to sing to an empty room Charcoal bits, and cherry pits, and halations can't come