Imitation fabric of the universe
Game of pretend with no rules
The look and feel of comfort
The taste and touch of regret
Over and over again you hear it
You'll probably be just fine
Fine was always less than good
We're grading on condition right
Just past the last dead end road
On a burned out property
A drab little scene of solitude
An old "for sale by owner" sign
With the number scratched out
The lockbox only had one key.
