for magnificence of spirit, holy grade arsenal of blueberry blossom fantasy folly, laughs at the most inappropriate moments, flan with coconut sprinkles and espresso, rip out my insides, and I'll reach out to you, my love, all we've been through.

the song wasn't meant for you but it turned to be yours anyway, a broken wheel on the freeway, some kind of trust or something beyond whatever people can do, letters, tiny, speckles, frightened under the bridge of a passing train, jumping over puddles, children again

or maybe it was, you insist, insist and I have learned from you that I don't seem to have a god ****** clue, and your light shines a whole light brighter than mine so I'll just have to clutch your hand and let you guide us through the underground, resume's and bits of talent, empty pizza boxes on a radioactive island, stranded

but something is ironic about the whole thing, and in your jacket you look look like a lost little penguin, and the absurdities add up and the question marks leave us with humor beyond anything I've known, question marks that bed and make love, little tid bits of apology that didn't make their way to the trial, now their standing there with feet chained to bits of radioactive metal, the apocalypse came before anyone could punish us, and now the jokes on them, or maybe its just on us, because we just can't seem to stop farting!