I can’t wait to be seventy-five
and single again.
Oh, to feel alive.

I’ll come home
without washing my face
and feel the space
on my right bedside.

Ill get a dog
watch time go by
and wait around to die.

I cant wait to be seventy-five
and single again
because its hard to
remember that you're alive
until half of you is dead.

For now I'm young,
and I've not found the one I'll wed,
and I do hold a good store of years before that,
but that's just the point I'm getting at:

As we're made aware of life by death
and of sorrow made aware by bliss
love isn't made without loneliness
for both lie balanced on our breath.

"Wasn't that swell?",
She chirped as we surfaced.
"What a well to slip into!
All dark and deep and new!",
Wet and cold and young we sat
In the dirt which we made into mud.
Never a smile I'd had nor will have
Could make such soda of my blood.

Yesterday though is overrated
Just like everything else that's old.
Even the summertime wisdom is cold.
Now either that wisdom has made me jaded,
Or I'm just upset that the past never faded.

and in the corner, I hear the metronome click
I fill the kettle and yet still feel sick

my stomach thinks my throat's been cut.
but I cannot eat.

I cannot compete with or beat the metronome.

It steals the minutes of the day and all it does
is tick and click and tick away.

I want to say why don't you stop, but it catches me and mops another minute up.

I pour some boiling water in my cup and forget the tea,
the metronome has done for me.

I see each second die and give a little less for me to live
and still it ticks.

It picks a moment when I blink and makes me think that all is well and the ticking is but just a shell upon the shore where timeless endless oceans roar
and then it makes me think some more
and ticks again.

I close the kitchen door

The metronome sat in the corner clicks right on, before too long my life will tick its last and in the shadows cast there will be another metronome that waits for me to tick into infinity, once more I see that endless face and in the place of midnight's dream
where I shall rest my weary bones
I know there'll be
more
metronomes.

Did I really sing through the early spring and coo and bill with the daffodils, howl like a wolf at the moon, watch the rising of the tide, was that really me inside looking out?

And lay bare when the Sun became the name that I called you by, did the stars ever twinkle so sweetly in the sky at night?
How dim now the light seems in those memories if the might have beens had been definite.

Winter spills more than rain on me and these weary eyes can see the end.

Christmas lends to me one more holiday with the family and the ones I love and then it takes back what belongs to it with interest due.

If I knew at all anything at all I know ****** all about it at all.

And the spring will come, the daffodils, the Sun and I'll have gone.
Fair or
unfair it's all
that
and
Lemons.

Let the earth spin
While I lie awake.
I have morals (of tin)
Still, for only deaths sake.
God will save me tomorrow
But tonight I'm alive-
Daylights shame I nightly borrow
So to sin I shallow dive.
Nightly though showing more daring, go deeper,
Lightly I feel my soul growing cheaper.

In our fall we were wild and wise
And reason was worn to our childish eyes
But that season has quickly come to pass
And a bitter wind now shakes the grass.
I have a blanket to wrap you in
Let the sun sleep, and the world not spin
Place your heart now on my pillow
Wrapped in the roots of this weathered willow
Wonder up into its rustling leaves
And rest your head on times simpler than these.

Its hard to see the plot
in the foreground of this fighting-
we’d understand her movie better
if it had better lighting.

But her body language sang
to me of what it's all about-
she tried disguises desperately,
but Hollywood sold out.

So she was a princess
prior to the revolution-
the soldiers saw her bow her head
over its bitter resolution.

Young wide eyes eclipsed by trust
in fiction stacked beside her bed-
reality though was a dagger ******
into youth, and disappointment slowly bled.

And we all know there's no place now
for her in their election-
she draws the curtains to hide her face
from that tired old reflection.

It wasn't what the trailers promised,
but she's free now to be honest-
Free to dream she crossed the stream,
escaped without the toll;
it's far too late to twist her fate
before the credits roll.