Come crash my stupid party.
We'll sneak into the basement
and share swigs of gin and
swap spit and oxygen and win card
games we don't even wanna play.

Today I learned the hard way
that my way or the highway
won't fly, but fly away with me
(but not in a gay way).

Not to sound cliché, I wish we
had wings or capes so we
could soar and swoop
through space and I could
score at hoops in space
(like Space Jam). And we can
pretend that rabbits and
carrots and green circle stars
have magic and real far away
our ending's tragic, but we don't
have to think about that yet.

We can go home and roam
around and let fun abound
until the right timing to quit
whining and open our eyes
to all our lies and do grown
things like answer phone
rings and own up to our
feelings, but let's hold off on
that for now.