Oh, don't touch that dial

Here's a word about my ex-girlfriend
Towards the end conflict off and on
And I told her one night, "Honey every time we fight
I'll write a verse to this song."

Well, things got bad, things got worse
Still I struggled on
So sit back and get all comfortable
'Cause this little tune's six fucking hours long

And every journey's got destinations
Which the traveler can't expect
So how's that I'm always winding up
Down here at land's edge?

I don't know
Alright, alright

Now if love is blind
Why did her stockings always look so cool?
Now I know I was paying attention
But somehow I got fooled

Well, I gave her seven children
And a twelve room uptown shack
And when it all was over
Took a dozen lawyers to get half back
But I already got me a new gal to ruin my life
And she might just yet
So I'm helping her find an apartment
Down here at land's edge, yes I am

Alright, oh
Let's continue our discussion

Now take the traveler and the tourist
The essential difference is
That the traveler don't know where he's goin'
And the tourist don't know where he is

Small world till they lose your luggage though
Take the stripper who lives next door
You'd swear this kid was twenty-one
Goin' on forty-four

Yeah, but luckily that ain't how she sees it
Got a new tattoo that says:
"When I die, send the body to heaven
Lost the rest at land's edge."

Oh