I need to whisper sweet somethings to nothing of importance,

Spell out rose petal kisses up the arms of Morticia Adams,

I need to take  a romantic walk through a graveyard,

Sit in the dark and think of white,

I could always fall up a hill and roll to the top,

The elevator down eventually hits the basement and that’s what I’m counting on,

Pinky finger through thumb, I’m counting.

Other thumb through pinky finger, I’m counting.

Sometimes you have to eat your Johnny Walker and drink your dinner.

Today, cigarettes… tomorrow, the world.

The convenient thing about tomorrow is it still can occur 2 years after yesterday.

Don’t count on it.

Tomorrow, the world… Friday, a whole wheat bagel and coffee.

I think I might garner a relationship with vampires, built on trust.

Turn off the t.v.

Love is a nightlight.

Love is a nightlight…