Help! I'm 30!

Pretty soon I'm gonna wake up
in a fucking Summer heat wave,
sweating bullets down the barrel
of the shit I still can't handle.
                       (Like relation-
                       -ships or regret
                      managment or
                   barely making rent!)
I don't feel any different--
still a stupid, clumsy kid
swing-and-missing, striking out
and fucking breathing out my mouth
as I turn
           and I slouch
and shuffle back to the dugout.

I'M ON A RAFT ON LAKE DeSMET
IT'S GOT A FISH HOOK TEAR IN IT
I'M SINKING FAST
SO WHERE'S MY DAD!?
I ONLY SORTA-KINDA SWIM!
Only now the raft's a loan
for lessons learned that just won't float
and the lake's this god damn town,
my stupid habits and the time
I always waste on whiny frowns,
and hanging hats
               on embarrassing shit!

I'm 29 and I'm thinking
     that Catch-Up's just a game I'm not winning.
Under a pile of mail with a cheap grin,
cringe away and close the blinds
and I'm calling in sick--
yeah I'll call in again
if it'll spare me from the glaring truth.

I'm 29 for a week more.
     For fifty-two I swore not to keep score
with the scars from skinned up knees or my credit.
Lock the door and draw the blinds
and I'll call it a win--
yeah I'll call it a win
if it'll spare me from the glaring truth
                          of a decade
                   containing my biggest loss.
(NOTE: I have these bad habits of getting older and of listening to Bomb The Music Industry!)