I’ll shut my eyes and let T.V. whisper, laugh and talk to me,
and I’ll curl up tight inside my head, killing time until the whole day’s dead.
And I’ll clasp my hands and I’ll make demands at the clouds (are asking “what’s wrong with him now?”).
Though I had big plans, now alone I stand in the crowd and they’re not even laughing out loud;
they don’t care.
Once I saw my face in a bathroom mirror, and I didn’t know that I was here,
but I knew my eyes an I knew my hands; I knew God would now listen to all my demands.
And the sky opened up and God interrupted the earth (stopped dying and stopped giving birth).
And when I came to on a cold wood floor, I didn’t feel so good anymore.
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