Shoulda, woulda, wouldn't No stanzas for rebu*tal Re-upped by the rudders Same wind, last shuttle Filled the trench with bu*ter Port and anchored on the other coast Toasted to the crew mates Before they could begin the roast f** it Needed no musket White sands Had a brew from the same colored plains At hand Carved wood drifted toward the horizon Hut una**embled Maroon dreams 'til this turn reversed Milton's pencils Man is not, but the chest is an island Regret nothing immediate Lost paradise, bad gas mileage Words filter siphoned Station played the greatest hits A Pizarro of reception Dialed two letters Gave bottle a kiss Ocean lain, return address: Of owning up The precipice sh** The currents let the list float Loaded, epistle, trip Until it was spelled as this: My life was always planned around my skin tone Mistaking mirrors for a portal into others' vision Maltreatment of supporting cast members Nuclear family fission “I” is embarra**ing to me Talking to women without rhythm Not to mention My repair sk** is disproportionate to my charisma points Roll snake eyed Fit to disappoint Dialogue was never the strong suit Couldn't bench press bars even wife-beater sweats minute Truth Took credit for too many blunders (ha) that I should have Undercover loser, paper husks prevent the relapse And still the broken synapses' Regret cosigns forget The meetings with past selves In futures For making bets