One day I shall make a cut out of king kong
Stick it on the empire state.
Tomorrow I will push the train forward.
Save everyone from a track fault.
They’ll say, ” Is that a bird? Is that a plane?”
I’ll say, “No, it’s just joe.”

One day I’ll say no to this $1.50 crap
Get coffee from the ritz, be free from this trap.
Tomorrow I’ll be at the bank.
Cashing this month’s cheque.
Spend it all on the lottery and maybe get a penny back.
Should I win, I’ll be on the news.
They’ll say, “Who’s that lucky twat? He’s all out of wack!”
I’ll say, “No, it’s just joe’”

Oh shit, it’s 1. I gotta be back.
There’s a report due tomorrow
And it’s barely done.
There’s the subway to dread
And the briefcase to drag.
Guess Ann and Lois Lane will have to wait.
Till another day when I’m finally free.

Needles stream and crash into granite
Keeping time of every minute.
Once a slow waltz, now a tap dance.

Pitter patter
Pitter patter
Pitter
Splatter
Oh, it’s over!
Drip.

Someone told her once
that she has to fight in the dark.
He wouldn’t be there for her,
So she stiffened her upper lip
And did pirouettes so furiously.

Her surroundings began to disappear.
She prayed that it would bring her to another
world or maybe make her fade away.
She grappled with reality
But the grains of time trickled painfully.

I was stuck in an aisle of the woods,
Trying not to get my candy apple shoes dirty.
Then the tin man toted his shiny exterior
And grinned at me, luring me to go over.
The scarecrows sneered at me
As if the sight was just too ugly.

You never.
Didn’t even try
to make amends
or to compensate.
Only feeding my insatiable rumble
with a gingerbread house filled with sweets
And watch as I tumble into the oven.

So thank you for teaching me
That love’s a commodity.
Bought with sugar hearts
And paid for with paper cuts.

But I’m only a child and that’s too stark.
So I’ll fly to the moon and its pockmarks
As I have always done.
It’s battered by your guilt.

I walked to the tailor’s, there was no one.
So I went up behind the counter
A navy blue man walked in  with a gun
Poking and prodding for powder
I don’t care for your forced smile; I have none.

He didn’t believe me.
My palms started to sweat
When I saw the white specks
Lingering in the buttons,
Dancing in the air, floating.

Then I woke up,
rolled off the bed.
Just another day
Hair in disarray
You looked at me and I looked away

Drew from my scabbard
To fight imaginary
Tall, big, blue dragons

While you take photos
Like an alchemist making
Gold from nothingness

We spend our days
In a lilac haze, staring
Your head in my lap

Yamazaki whisky
Don’t you love how that rhymes?

I absolutely love this song.

I watched you perform and you brought me into a world not that different from mine, but everything was magical because there were no words. You might just near Chaplin, but not quite. Not in my partial and blind heart. Violent innocence. Simplicity, where?

The other day, I wondered what a couple’s argue would look like without any words, any voice. The intensity I foresaw on film. I wondered if the world could accept once more the magic that films had, but it seems everyone is far too empty that there is a need to constantly fill the void with noise. Comfort in solitude; you can’t comprehend.

Romantic notions. Have I told you that I hate roses. So frail and common. I’d rather a tulip. I want a sunflower. I want an onion. I don’t deserve it. I forgot the watering can.