Paroles de la chanson Poet's Resumé par Tim McGraw
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Paroles de la chanson Poet's Resumé par Tim McGraw
Washin' dishes at a no-name diner
Worked his way up to line cook on the weekdays
But his daydream is burnin', his dish towel her turned in
Another dead-end job on a poet's resumé
So, he followed a lover out west
Where the sun sets on Pacific Palisades
When she slept with an old boyfriend
It tore him up to no end, put all that pain in a poet's resumé
When you work in heartache you still earn those callouses
Words on a napkin in dead languages
Everybody loves him but no one ever stays
Another whiskey to unwind, another less-than-perfect rhyme
Another wasted line on a poet's resumé
Fine line between being free and being lonely
It's blood from a stone and stoned on Percocet
He don't believe in God but he's prayin'
He'll find something worth sayin'
In a new way no one's ever heard it said
When you work in heartache you still earn those callouses
Words on a napkin in dead languages
Everybody loves him but no one ever stays
Another whiskey to unwind, another less-than-perfect rhyme
Everybody loves him but no one ever stays
Another whiskey to unwind, another less-than-perfect rhyme
Another wasted line on a poet's resumé
Fine line between being free and being lonely
It's blood from a stone and stoned on Percocet
He don't believe in God but he's prayin'
He'll find something worth sayin'
In a new way no one's ever heard it said
When you work in heartache you still earn those callouses
Words on a napkin in dead languages
Everybody loves him but no one ever stays
Another whiskey to unwind, another less-than-perfect rhyme
Another wasted line on a poet's resumé
And he knows it's in his blood
His blood is on the page and the page will always turn
That's how it goes when you're young
When the only thing you're scared of is runnin' out of words
When you work in heartache you still earn those callouses
Words on a napkin in dead languages
Everybody loves him but no one ever stays
Another whiskey to unwind, another less-than-perfect rhyme
Another wasted line on a poet's resumé
And he knows it's in his blood
His blood is on the page and the page will always turn
That's how it goes when you're young
When the only thing you're scared of is runnin' out of words
When you work in heartache you still earn those callouses
Words on a napkin in dead languages
Everybody loves him but no one ever stays
Another whiskey to unwind, another less-than-perfect rhyme
Another wasted line on a poet's resumé
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