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The sirens woke me up again |
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I know they're coming for me someday, just a matter of when |
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Count to 25 and yawn |
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Touch the clock and turn my back against the dawn |
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And hope for that one dream |
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Of hardware stores and checkered floors |
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And buckets full of nails |
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Or floating effortless |
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Over the apartments in a boat |
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And rowing past the office windows |
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Mother, mother, may I cry? |
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Father, will you teach me how to die the right way someday? |
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I don't want a second chance |
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To turn my stuttering reluctance into romance |
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With these documents |
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And kindergarten anthems with my drunken liturgies |
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Tune the FM into static and pretend that it's the sea |
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But four words fumble for the microphone |
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You should have known |
