I've been thinking myself sick
Waiting for the plot to thicken
Rolling around for miles unnumbered
Unencumbered by style
Oh, what a time now to show up
Way too late to grow up
Way too late to take the dive
So I'll shoot the sky instead
Stay up late, shoot the moon
Do the things we used to do
When we was just young and anxious
Heinous with happiness
We was born to be great
Or just born a little too late
For the rock of ages, ain't it strange
Just my age and my best guess
Jack, he left the monastery
Went on off to Woodstock
Took his younger sister
Now she plays guitar
He went on to raise three daughters
I fell in love with the youngest
We just listen to his stories
Get our daily bread
Stay up late, shoot the moon
Do the things he used to do
When he was just young and anxious
Heinous with happiness
He was born in a long line
And so, born right on time
For the rock of ages, ain't it strange
Just his age and his best guess
How could I know
Where I may go
When hardly do I know from where I come?
But if this America is any indication
I was born into one great, big vacation
A great house, on a great lake,
At a great rate I can't (can?) afford
So I stay up late, I shoot the moon
I do the things I have to do
To feel my nature, to ease this collective pain
And if one day I drown
I do pray you lay me down
And say, he was sound, he was strong
One good link upon the chain
Then you stay up late, you shoot the moon
Do the things you have to do
To feel your nature
To feel some connectedness
You were born not to lose
Or just born a little too soon
For the rock of ages, ain't it strange
Just your age and your best guess