Oh, I just don't know where to go.
When your oceans are full of salt water
and salt water reigns in my tear-ducts,
I'm stuck:
I'm sorry I've stopped coming over.
But the swings on the swing set in your backyard don't carry me away to the wind
     like they used to.
And I know you drive in the shadows
so the Police can't ever see you,
But I'm tired of that too.
I want them to find me,
so that I can lick the columns of prison bars,
and see what being stuck really feels like.