Souls, although where we meet. This Hose a lazy Morphine. But I, Iâ€™m stretching to see over Your shoulders and past your priest And paper cups and paper shoes Give backs to me, but I see right through And I know why you overslept So gray, gray, slow rain.
Iâ€™m happier than you. And Iâ€™m too high to follow through Home, like the bedpan he needs. And the hose, thatâ€™s not supposed to be But I, Iâ€™m stretching to see over your Flowers and Time magazines Now I believe in what you do The pain will cease Well I know why you overslept To be home, to be