Somewhere there is a couch no one is sitting on,
this is the saddest story we know.
Where is the music? Where is the sky?
Point me to the clouds I want to crane my neck and look.
Where does the road go? I’m following someone and I can only see their back.
I’m a piece of poetry, I’m The Road Less Traveled and
everyone interprets me the wrong way.
Close the door behind you because I know you’re not staying.
I sold my heart at a garage sale, I can’t remember who to.
I’m ready to leave this world for the next one
and I want new eyes.
Pull the fire alarm and stand me under it, I haven’t felt the rain in years
There are people here who have never seen fireflies before and I want to bathe in their newfound wonder
– let me tell you there are things in this world that produce their own light –
and the moon hasn’t stopped howling at me since I was born in its arms of night.
Let’s talk about haircuts and paper cuts and the kind of cuts you can get and the place where lost things go.
Take my hand let’s go home to our no-home.
Jack are you proud yet Jack am I writing with a beat yet Jack is this good enough for you and your On the Road soul?
My keys are around my neck but where the hell is the door to which they go I don’t even know and I guess this is how soul mates work.
Am I a round peg in a square hole yet?
The world sticks its tongue out at you and you think maybe it wants to French kiss but really it’s just making fun of you, this is how I sum up the universe.
Jack if you’re not proud yet I don’t think you’ll ever be.
Is this beat yet? Am I just beating around the bush or beating these keys hoping music comes out?