Well, I sit here working on my next week’s game
On my days off this is how I spend my life.
And I’m writing NPCs and all their names
That I know my players all will criticize.

I put a plot hook here and a plot seed there
But I know they’ll just ignore them anyway

But I’m thinking as I grapple with my dice
Why do this work when they’ll screw it up anyway?
So I’m packing up my graph paper and books
And I just let Netflix fill up my free day.

And when game night comes I’ll just smirk and shrug
And run a game without a game to really play

But it’s too late to be scared and it’s too late for me to care
and its too late for me to ask if its too late
Because I’m standing at the edge of this imaginary precipice
And there’s only one step left that I can take…
I’ll build my wings on the way down… (x3)And I’ll fly today.

Well the party is two rogues a ranger-thief,
a thief-wizard and some paladin named Jim
In the town square, someone’s screaming Help Me Now
And they pick his pockets clean as Jim runs in

And he’s murdered by a cow, a demonic murder cow
Now for once I have the player’s attention.

But it’s too late to be scared and its too late for me to care
and its too late for me to ask if its too late
Because I’m standing at the precipice of madness maybe greatness
And there’s only one step left that I can take…

I’ll build my wings on the way down… (x3)
And I’ll fly today.

Sure, the game was really great and sure the murder cow was hated
And I was half a halfling short of TPK
But soon the next session arrives and that one halfling who survived
Had sworn a blood-cued on all cows and now that’s all we ever play

But it’s too latter care and it’s too late to be scared
and its too late for me to ask if its too late
Because I’m standing at the edge of this imaginary precipice
And there’s only one step left that I can take…
I’ll build my wings on the way down… (x3)
And I’ll fly today.