I sit at the piano almost all the time.

I think about my life and try to make it rhyme.

It's been such a long, long while

Since I've been to the front.

I did so well the last time it must have seemed a stunt.



But my chops have gotten tender,

I don't know if I am able

To pick the banner up again, do service and stay stable.



'Cause I'd rather be no one at home,

And leave my talent on the shelf

Than be the world to some poor girl

Who's nobody at home herself.