life is too short to give a **** about a country when cats that aren't yours come and **** in your house.

life is too short to give a **** about impression when the art you provide is offensive to most.

life is too short to give a **** about indifference when commerce makes ******* of practical need.

life is too short to give a **** about regret when regret is the debt that you stepped in, you wept yet you kept it aside and it crept, then it slept, then you swept it away, the intrepid, tepid, jelly-like method that weathers fake smiles like the wear in your tires, and claws its way through what you see as desire, then tears it all down when its aimed at yourself before putting you up on the furtherest shelf, and then blaming you, shaming you, changing the way that you saw what you thought that you ought, what you sought, what you bought, why you fought; its the same: you're distraught because any way you look at it, life is just too ******* short.

seas of sometimes amidst winds of want
which would you choose?
years of yearning surround cans that can't
and scripted praise meets cryptic prose
like measured fame meets metered foam
safe, as safe is, as safe does
takes that quiet into its loneliness
and waits

the face of fiction shakes more from most
what did you choose?
flirting fantasies can damage dreams
where beaten fruit finds sweetened juice
and sudden breath finds sunken dirt
wish, as wish wants, as wish wants to be
loves that surprise so unconditionally
and waits

and we wait

between the blue and pink, i think
the brown and green will sink
and in this loneliness i hope
you choke
you choke
you choke on your ambition
like it wants to be
the world to see
the fading of our history
drives home
drives home
drives home and parks the car beneath
the tree
the sea
i hope

if ever i take shelter there's a
chance i might forget her
an illuminating light
its right
its right
its right to think that i'm afraid
its normal to be foolish
and see your mind as selfish
as what mine would like to wish
but then there's you
there's me
there's everything that we could be
the tree
the sea
i hope

i wish that i was nine years younger
back then i could have stopped that train
my soul is made of grief and hunger

since then i've gone and made a blunder
and it happens again and again
i wish that i was nine years younger

my son fills me with so much wonder
a reflection from a window pane
my soul is made of grief and hunger

outside i hear a roaring thunder
frustration that i can't explain
i wish that i was nine years younger

i'm trying hard to not go under
i'm in no position to complain
my soul is made of grief and hunger

the square root of a complex number
the direction of a weather vane
i wish that i was nine years younger
my soul is made of grief and hunger