White Picket Fence

I ought to marry a girl named Jane,
stop my fool running around.
Have a couple of kids and a couple of guns
and live on the far side of town.
Well I bet that life could be simple,
at least not so damned intense.
If they left us alone we would mostly stay home
in the house with the white picket fence.

She'd make lemonade in the summertime and wave as I worked on the car.
I could teach her to strum 'Forever Young'
on the strings of a pearl neck guitar.
And I'd keep one eye on the bottom line
and one eye on current events.
When I laid my head down I'd hear any strange sound
in the house with the white Picket fence .

Now the kids would grow off to college one day, study H-bombs or dolphins or Freud...
but we'd pass the time with the breeze through the wind chimes
and fill up the space in the void.
And we'd go to service on Sundays,
leaving nothing eternal to chance.
And Jane would turn grey, but I'd love her that way
in the house with the white picket fence.