I lit the fuse too soon-
blew up the moon too soon.
Now the flood water's
seeping into my bedroom.
I should have paced myself-
tried to love someone else.
Now I don't know
why I'm feeling so amused right now.
Gretta got a letter from her letterbox.
Her one true love died of a bloddy flux.
Drowning in grief,
she cools her feet in a stream
and wonders what she should do
now that she's woke from her dream.
Lily's feeling chilly in the northern breeze,
dreaming of her Martin, stationed overseas.
Together I've never seen a more querulous pair,
but now she's praying,
"Dear god, bring him back to me please."
I was sitting in that room playing this guitar,
when a stillborn child passed on a shooting star.
Her eyes were calcified and her lips were blue.
The entire time, I was thinking of you.
Because the love that we take for granted
and let pass.
Will be the last thought flashing across our minds
as we're turning to ash.