Greet the sun behind the curtain in this ungodly hour of the morning with a little respect. Chirping birds and dump truck hydraulics, children and their puppy dogs are waiting for you outside.
You spend so much time hiding under your covers, pulling down your blinds. You've got so much time to waste with all your worries, to occupy the motel in your mind.
Speeding from malnourishment, circling all the magnets with your eyes. Laying all your anger on me when I'm only turning on the lights.
I've got so much time to sit and try to humor you and maybe go unconscious. We've got so much time to hit the ping-pong back and forth. I won't make you eat your words when I eat mine.
Like the pictures in the childrens' books: Many things suggested but not said. Right, I am the psychic. It's up to me to know who's in the bed.
You spend so much time arguing your point so that I can not make mine. You've got so much time to pick the bugs from your swimming pool, the one that's by the motel in your mind