Everything I Try To Do, Nothing Seems To Turn

The Decemberists

The film was a bust but we stayed 'til the ending,

Hair all a mussed but your clothes didn't look so bad.



Back on the streets, the rain was descending

In cold dirty sheets, so under the awning we sat,

And then you hailed yourself a yellow cab.

So I sat for a time by the valleys in line

And I read what you wrote on the card,

Above the cowboy you drew a big, tough balloon

Saying, "Try not to take it so hard."



But there's this nagging suspicion that won't leave me alone tonight,

It seems that everything I try to do, nothing seems to turn out right.



We laid on our backs and stared at the ceiling,

Messed with your slacks but ended up just holding your hand.

The rain will remain, the TV was telling,

A drip of the drain as your legs lift to brilliantly bend,

And fall to resting on the ottoman.



So we turned off the tube and we crawled to your room

Leaving discarded clothes in our way,

And we both had some fun though I twice bit my tongue

And it lasted too long for my taste.



But there's this nagging suspicion that won't leave me alone tonight,

It seems that everything I try to do, nothing seems to turn out right.



A wink and a wave and you're off to your family,

I sit and watch as the taxi lights distantly fade.

I guess I always thought it'd end this way.