Your uncle’s on his shit again Four fingers of Midleton Nursing all his lone regrets Laughing off his eulogy That all the fools he used to be And all the men he might have been Wound up him instead

What will you have when you’re looking back Once what’s ahead is the distant past And all of the life that you left to chance Wastes away? Wastes away?

Sipping something on the rocks Spinning on a moonlit dock Numb as an old bruise I’m poring over everything I got regrets ahead of me But I’m wondering which ones I’ll choose And which choose me instead

What will I have when I’m looking back? Once what’s ahead is the distant past The sum of a life that was left to chance What will I have? Man, I don’t know, but

I don’t want to waste away, no I don’t want to waste away, no I don’t want to waste away, no I don’t want to waste away To waste away anymore