[01:10.23]Happy birthday, you're halfway to 60
[01:17.37]You have no land of your own
[01:19.14]A job you despise
[01:20.58]And a lover that's mean
[01:24.30]And you started noticing a disturbing thing
[01:27.24]Birds eating other birds just beyond the screen
[01:38.25]So you packed up your things and hopped on the freeway headed east
[01:44.85]And you drove for eight days aimlessly
[01:53.10]Telling yourself to be humble
[01:54.96]Singing to yourself to be free
[01:59.49]Being full aware that it's a middle-age crisis type thing
[02:08.97]And you drove 'til you saw a sign for a town called Luckey
[02:11.10]Spelled L-U-C-K-E-Y
[02:20.67]Where the sugar towers rise to line and meet the streets
[02:29.16]Checked into a motel, slept on cardboard sheets
[02:35.28]That covered the bloodstained mattress underneath
[02:42.06]Went to the local bar and you got yourself a drink
[02:52.89]Telling yourself to be humble
[02:56.31]Singing to yourself to be free
[02:59.37]It's a middle-age crisis type thing
[03:20.34]It was the most ragtag group you had ever seen
[03:24.12]A slender man with a moustache on both sides nothing in between
[03:34.35]Looking like a preacher son who had given into the devil-worshipping scene
[03:40.92]He was a real looker and he bought you a drink
[03:48.51]And you proceeded to tell him everything
[03:55.86]And you were getting a bit hysterical it seemed
[04:03.06]You laughed like a carburetor and then you screamed
[04:09.90]All the doubt and the disbelief
[04:20.85]Telling yourself to be humble
[04:24.30]Singing to yourself to be free
[04:27.39]It's a middle-age crisis type thing
[04:34.38]And he told you how he came to be
[04:39.09]As an altar boy by his father's knees
[04:48.39]And how he came to lose his faith
[04:54.90]There was no touching but advances were made
[05:02.64]And his father's hand in slow motion it was approaching him
[05:09.90]And the doubt and disbelief crept over his young heart like the black ocean
[05:24.18]A stormcloud, a hurricane if you will
[05:26.16]A stormcloud, a hurricane
[05:34.83]Telling yourself to be humble
[05:38.25]Singing to yourself to be free
[05:41.34]It's a middle-age crisis type thing
[05:51.45]It's a middle-age crisis type thing
[05:52.68]Go home lady, find yourself happy
[05:55.32]It's just a middle-age crisis type thing
[05:58.83]It's a middle-age crisis type thing
[05:59.88]It's a middle-age crisis type thing
[06:02.46]It's a middle-age crisis type thing
[06:09.54]It's a middle-age crisis type thing
[06:13.59]It's a middle-age crisis type thing

Happy birthday, you're halfway to 60
You have no land of your own
A job you despise
And a lover that's mean
And you started noticing a disturbing thing
Birds eating other birds just beyond the screen
So you packed up your things and hopped on the freeway headed east
And you drove for eight days aimlessly
Telling yourself to be humble
Singing to yourself to be free
Being full aware that it's a middle-age crisis type thing
And you drove 'til you saw a sign for a town called Luckey
Spelled L-U-C-K-E-Y
Where the sugar towers rise to line and meet the streets
Checked into a motel, slept on cardboard sheets
That covered the bloodstained mattress underneath
Went to the local bar and you got yourself a drink
Telling yourself to be humble
Singing to yourself to be free
It's a middle-age crisis type thing
It was the most ragtag group you had ever seen
A slender man with a moustache on both sides nothing in between
Looking like a preacher son who had given into the devil-worshipping scene
He was a real looker and he bought you a drink
And you proceeded to tell him everything
And you were getting a bit hysterical it seemed
You laughed like a carburetor and then you screamed
All the doubt and the disbelief
Telling yourself to be humble
Singing to yourself to be free
It's a middle-age crisis type thing
And he told you how he came to be
As an altar boy by his father's knees
And how he came to lose his faith
There was no touching but advances were made
And his father's hand in slow motion it was approaching him
And the doubt and disbelief crept over his young heart like the black ocean
A stormcloud, a hurricane if you will
A stormcloud, a hurricane
Telling yourself to be humble
Singing to yourself to be free
It's a middle-age crisis type thing
It's a middle-age crisis type thing
Go home lady, find yourself happy
It's just a middle-age crisis type thing
It's a middle-age crisis type thing
It's a middle-age crisis type thing
It's a middle-age crisis type thing
It's a middle-age crisis type thing
It's a middle-age crisis type thing