My room is a museum
A lifetime's of my work
I am the last Mohican
I stand proud although I'm hurt
I keep a cup of secrets
From which I never drink
I am an ancient king
Who sits proud but never thinks
So if I find one more ring
Of yours mixed up among my things
I just might sell all my belongings
To make sure I've cut all my strings
And if I find one more note
Crumpled up inside my coat
I'm moving back to Carolina
Where I'll live out on the coast
I have a box of trinkets
I count them one by one
Each one is a keepsake
From a war that I have won
I have a daily schedule
A comfortable routine
Watch months roll by with pleasure
Like girls walking down the street
I lost all my ambition
Could've settled for less
But if I can't have you
I don't care about the rest
If I find one more strand
Of black hair under my night stand