Souls, although where we meet. This Hose a lazy Morphine. But I, I’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.
I’m happier than you. And I’m too high to follow through Home, like the bedpan he needs. And the hose, that’s not supposed to be But I, I’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