Moon over in the East, 30 degrees west.
Rise, rise over the meridian line.
Sink below sea level.
Sun on Wichita, Kansas.
Bright red house under the pale clouded sky.
Daffodils on the windows,
Perking when the bees buzz by fluidly.
You let the roses fall between your fingers
Like water dripping from the faucet.
Seven degrees warmer
And we’ll burn in hell.
Lets go to Maine i hear it’s warmer at noon
And the dogs don’t prowl the streets.
Lets move to Iowa where the farms out number people.
You let your hair fall
Like a rock slide down your shoulders.
And you told me you felt a little under the weather.