I wait longer and longer to hold a
singing family.
They let me go.
(Fire.)
They don't tell me about the show.
I'm another broken promise...
...like words can't hurt me.
Today is another broken promise...
Like a much craftier wordsmith
  will never hurt me.

I saw your head turned to stone.
You'd only been alive four days.
There is nothing like music for the dead
lovers who don't bother
to flatter me anymore.

I know that the ones who love me would not
waste breath on flattery.
I've been jailed for battery.

The road back to my house is made of
gravel.
The map is a scar on my kneecap.
One half of a bright red big wheel.

That is all I remember about the sky,
  as it works its way into my self conscious mind.

I say,
Put the knife back in the drawer.
I say,
They will throw nice things out
eventually.
I say,
When they do that,
you will have everything.

Lately,
I have been wondreing
what would happen if I
stop looking through
the trash?
Maybe someone else could
redecorrate their living room.
Maybe I could get a living room,
then sit and write bad poetry.

Put the knife back in the drawer.
My arm hurts in the places where
I did not cut it.
I did  not cut it.