From the album Boat Songs
This is a song about someone trying to convince themselves they've accepted something they clearly haven't accepted at all. The whole thing is structured as a pre-emptive defense against being told what he already claims to know, which means he doesn't actually know it yet or he wouldn't need to keep saying it.
I had it under control / I had it under control / And then it snow balled
The double insistence that he HAD it under control is the giveaway that he never did. The snowball image is doing real work here—it's not just losing control, it's watching yourself lose control in slow motion while telling yourself you're still fine.
I'd always seen the corner / And still I stubbed my toe
This might be the best encapsulation of addiction logic he's written. Knowing what's coming doesn't stop you from walking into it, and afterward you stand there confused about how you managed to do the exact thing you knew you were going to do.
Don't remind me / What I already know
He's asking people not to do the thing he's actively doing to himself by writing this song. The plea for silence is proof he hasn't actually integrated whatever he claims to know—if he had, someone else saying it wouldn't feel like an attack.
There's a word for this / For what used to scratch the itch / And then some day it quit
He won't say the word. Not addiction, not dependence, not the substance or person or behavior—just 'a word for this.' The distance between naming something and experiencing it is the whole problem, and he's still stuck on the wrong side of it.
The song is structured as someone trying to get out in front of being confronted, but the confrontation is coming from inside. By the end, 'ain't that a bitch' lands like he's just now realizing the unfairness of needing something that doesn't work anymore, even though he opened the song claiming he already knew. He doesn't sound convinced.