The Art of Losing

I’ve forgotten more than most folks have ever known about what it’s like livin’ with regret.

For ties I’ve broken things I’ve felt but seldom shown and even for mistakes I haven’t quite made yet.

I could write a book about the lost and lonely down and out whose broken hearts just won’t set them free.

It’d be a story told on tear stained pages, a tragedy for the ages, and I could do it all from memory.

I’ve been cursed with a gift make no mistake.

Every heart I touch I seem to break.

It just comes natural. It didn’t take any doing.

No it didn’t come to me by my own choosing,

To perfect the art of losing.

Painters paint. Singers sing I’ve played my hand at all the these things. I fold every time I try.

Winners win losers lose. Me, I never get to choose let me tell you why.

I’ve been cursed with a gift make no mistake.

Every heart I touch I seem to break.

It just comes natural. It didn’t take any doing.

No it didn’t come to me by my own choosing,

No it didn’t come to me by my own choosing,

To perfect the art of losing.

To perfect the art of losing.