Should of could of would of

It's so easy to look back
At all the things I should have done
They sit there on the desk
I haven't finished even one
The days all come and go
With the rising and setting of the sun
I couldn't say anything I lost
But for sure nothing's done

Excuses I have plenty
While I haven't hit a lick
Reasons I have none
It kind of makes me sick
I've told myself it could be done
Like a kind of magic trick
The ways we fool ourselves
I must admit are really slick

I would have sent those faxes
Something else got in the way
I need to fix the lawn mower
It can wait another day
I need to send the invitations out
To Gene's wedding, there they lay
Why have I not done these things
There's nothing I can say.