Horseshoes and Hand Grenades

I built the layout in my mind, precise and down to scale The timber of that picket fence, the latch upon the rail I had the blueprint in my hands, I saw the morning light Reflecting off a quiet porch, a kitchen painted white Two shadows running through the grass, a hand to hold in mine It wasn't just a distant hope, it lined up line by line I was standing on the threshold, I could taste the summer rain I had my fingers on the handle... then they went and cut the chain. And they tell you that you tried your best, like that's some kind of prize Like almost getting what you earned can clear the smoke out of your eyes But close don’t put a roof up when the winter weather breaks And close don't stop the phantom scream that wakes you up and shakes There ain't no comfort in the near, no mercy in the shades Yeah, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. I still can smell the fresh-cut pine, the dirt along the street The exact layout of a kitchen floor beneath a family's feet It’s a haunting kind of inventory, listing what you lost Counting up the copper wire and figuring the cost You sit inside a quiet room and map out what went wrong Just like a broken radio that’s stuck on someone's song You’re staring at a target that you didn't mean to miss Living in the shadow of a near-miss kind of life like this. And they tell you that you tried your best, like that's some kind of prize Like almost getting what you earned can clear the smoke out of your eyes But close don’t put a roof up when the winter weather breaks And close don't stop the phantom scream that wakes you up and shakes There ain't no comfort in the near, no mercy in the shades Yeah, close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. You learn to walk around the crater left inside the clay You sweep the broken shards of glass and throw the scraps away But an iron ring is heavy, and a pin is fast to pull And almost getting out of there don't make the cellar full I don't need your second places, I don't want your compromise I’ve seen the way a near-miss burns a hole across the skies. So toss the iron in the dirt, let the fuses start to climb You either hit the target square or waste the entire time No silver medals for a home, no comfort in the shades... Yeah, close only counts in.... Horseshoes and hand grenades.