For his pleasure he sits sweating ⁄ The ghost of a man who now haunts himself ⁄ Hear the steady tick of time like a levee ⁄ Holding in his troubled mind ⁄ He was proud he was strong ⁄ Now he's counting back the days to what went wrong ⁄ A pipe a dream a fearful scream ⁄ All these FBI agents hiding in your pine trees ⁄ ⁄ Lord it is tragic ⁄ ⁄ Burning faster than a fuse lit from both ends ⁄ He spirals down ⁄ At the ready with a list of excuses ⁄ Most of his friends they don't know him now ⁄ The family's tired and confused ⁄ He's still trying to make an offer they can't refuse ⁄ Is he clean is he free ⁄ Are those FBI agents still hiding in his pine trees? ⁄ ⁄ Lord it is tragic