Problem Is

maybe some day we'll meet again when our two roads hit the same dead end and o-oh i'm counting the days cuz you've got something that i've never since seen a willing heart and a part that's clean we're both good at counting days with an ounce of intuition and your parents' ammunition you come here hungry wearing naked ambition hysterical to meet you can you get me in? i got three years tied to the mast of this town she's a handsome ship but i'm going down and o-oh she ain't coming with me there's a time to fight and a time to get out but you'll fight till we're all knocked out and oh i keep counting teeth everyone's an artist with a pristine vision a cellular intelligencer with a fire in her kitchen too many chefs on dope. and the rich don't listen