It was as shaky as it was stable
As catalog cheap, as it was painted for an heirloom

We sat clothed in Saturday mornings
But this time we couldn’t speak
If I could I’d tell you
This particle board was pressed
With all the scheduled pitches and lunchtime whistles

The veiny grain roped and ebbed
In long wallflower cantations
And there a boy was lost

It should have been a museum’s muse
But all I threw out today was a ****** coffee table