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This year's robin's breast is not as red |
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The entire nest is underfed |
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Every bed I've made has broken down |
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The AA meeting is letting out |
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From the parking lot where my mother let me try out |
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Driving my grandfather's car when I was just fourteen |
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If the splendid world wants to end and rid us |
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I wish it'd just get on with it and forbid us |
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I can't keep track of what I own |
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My brightest day was poisonous but agile |
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And then you decay in a way so fragile |
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In the sticky shade with an ice cream cone |
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Whatever happened to the little sailboat |
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We kept behind the shed but only once made float? |
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I used to climb upon it onto the roof |
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And now the earwigs climb the trashcan |
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I figure I'll become a sort of watery man |
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Pissing in my night backyard |
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Distributing the proof |
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You can keep a record of all your meals |
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And the way that each day feels |
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Safe and well-preserved in some hidden cavity |
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But all your private and precious locales |
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All your hidden heavens and all your pals |
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Are gonna succumb to the brutal gravity |
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Baby I know |
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The splendid world is immune to flattery |
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It burst me on the sidewalk like a run-over battery |
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All my metallic innards come pooling out |
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To try to name this is to be less famous |
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If I were dumber and detestable I'd be more successful |
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But on the sharp scorched grass there's nothing else to sing about |
