A funeral is always a saddening thing,
For everybody is somebody to someone.
But some funeral scenes chill you to the bone
And one day in our town we had one.

A very young mother had died;
Something that you just don't expect.
And the shops and stores had all closed their doors;
They did it out of love and respect.

And in the crowded funeral home that day,
With everyone present weeping,
The sound of a little girl's voice was heard.
She said, "That's my mommie, she's sleeping."

Then I heard the sound of her little feet, "tap, tap, tap,"
As she made her way down the aisle.
Her little purse dangled from her tiny wrist
and it brushed her best Sunday dress,
And she boldly asserted the confidence
That little folks like her possess.

To the life that has no final chapter
There's no ending and no last mile.
The preacher and the rest were petrified,
But on the little girl's face was a smile.

She said, "Wake up, Mommie, wake up."
And still not satisfied she reached out with her little hand
And touched her face and cried.
Then the broken hearted daddy spoke
With a gentleness and with power,
And the words that issued from his lips
Was the sermon for the hour.

In a child like faith he told her
That the dead in Christ will rise
"God gave us his word," he said,
"And we know he never lies.

We can't wake up our sleeping Mommie,
But we know someone who can.
Baby, only God can wake up Mommie.
Let's go home and leave her in his hands."

One two three four counting tiles on the wall
Do I do it in consciousness or subliminal
After all I put them there! I know how many already
We think the strangest thoughts, daydreams of simply bored
What if Shrodinger had a dog and Pavlov a cat
Would science be different for that?
Did man really walk on the moon or was it a desert soundstage?
Can air brushed looks ever replace a memory of another's face
Do dogs bark because they can? Or are we to thick to understand
I dont know I I don't speak dog or human sometimes for that matter
If I had religion with god I could natter
As I don't and never will I'll count more until I'm done
Five six seven eight

It's those late drunken nights
The contamination of the Moscato
That makes it hard not to
Want you in the bed.
That late drunken night
When the moon told it no
But it's body carried on anyway
Because those late drunken nights
They're addicted to your lips
To your soft skin, and **** that smile
And the way you stare into their eyes.
Every time it's a late drunken night
It's you it wants as prey
Sometimes just to lay
Other times just to liquify
That space between your thighs
And be the one to **** it dry
Those late drunken nights like
To go until you ******
Til you pulling it's hair
And scratching it's bare back.
Til it's breath resembles your na na
And you can't take it no mas, nada
Those late drunken nights
They always want your ***
But when the drunken night rests
It wakes up the next morning,
Not even remembering your name...

I'm sorry i started crying.
i swear it was the alcohol
poisoning my words
and twisting my emotions.
and the tears were supposed to
tell you i love you
not make you afraid
for the future.
i meant to say i miss you
not that i hate you
but i think the words
just got confused in my mind.
I'm sorry for the mix up
its just that love
and hate seem to really
correlate in my drunken state
of reality.
lets pretend everything i
said was the perfect cocktail
of lovely seduction
convincing you, coaxing you
to reconsider my disastrous being,
take me back tonight
won't you please?
I've waited
and waited
years it seems for this
moment to come and make me
happy, alive, perfect.
you and me.
together.
love or hate
i don't know
or care
all that matters
is that its you
and me
again.

together.