Good Times

I may be dressed as a doctor dear,
But I’m not, I’m just acting up
Got high hopes, a passing thought

I may act like a bombardier
But don’t be fooled, cause my aim is off
No need for alarm, I’ll catch you next time

I’d like to raise the Titanic here
Take a walk, through it’s molding streets
And feel right at home, ’cause the dead don’t talk

It’d be so nice, if you weren’t here
Empty air, where you used to stand
Like an empty plate, that gets bussed away