We all got a story … so I’ve been told
Met an old street poet sat outside a dive I used to know
He strummed his old guitar looked straight into my eyes
He started to cry, I asked him, why
I could see the regret, the pain, the words written on his face
The sad chords of the song of the life that he had played
I listened to his song as he told me this
the story that was his

I was born a young man missed my childhood, so it seemed
Lived too many years behind the shadows I believed
Damn I wasted memories on a pocketful of dreams
That were lies

Had no Kings or Aces not one face card to my name
Walked around in circles no directions to the games
Every roll of dice… another snake eyes… who’s to blame
Guess that’s life… The House … The House wins again…
The only thing they left me, was a pocket, a pocketful of lies

Pocket full of lies didn’t see the devil’s sweet disguise
Thought that I was living, but I been… wastin’ all my time
Guess it took this lifetime, to appreciate the loss… gone… gone

He told me… every word I whisper has taste of poet’s truth
Lived too far in life’s charade… for me to lie to you
Listen or you don’t... decide this on your own
But for me
The House… always wins
Only thing they left me, was a pocket, a pocketful of lies

Pocket full of lies he didn’t see the devil’s sweet disguise
Thought he’d been living, he’s been… wastin’ all his time
GUESS IT TOOK HIS LIFETIME TO APPRECIATE THE LOSS…
GONE… GONE
Only thing they left him, was a pocket, a pocketful of lies