Fool On The Hill--(Beatles)
Day after day, alone in a bar in Tir,
The arthritic old fixer stares into his beer,
But nobody wants to hire him,
Cause he’s known as fumble fingers on the street,
And bad weather makes his gout ache.
But the Fixer in the bar,
Dreams of days that have past,
When he could crack open chests,
When he still was so fast.
Sold his personal lockpick, to raise the creds,
To pay for surgery to replace his degenerative hip,
But he can’t get public assistance,
Cause Omni-Tek doesn’t like thieves,
And he’s too old to go straight.
But the Fixer in the bar,
Dreams of days that have past,
When he could crack open chests,
When he still was so fast.
One last big score before getting out,
He’ll crawl through the job if he must,
Whatever it takes to reach the end.
But the Fixer in the bar,
Dreams of days that have past,
When he could crack open chests,
When he still was so fast.