|
|
I stayed up all night,
And dozed all day
Because that is when my mind will stray
I did not eat,
For, hunger says,
"It is I who makes you think those ways."
I don't think you'll notice,
I don't think you'll care
I often thought you think for me . . .
But even that, for you, is rare
So I wrote a story
And I wrote it in a quarry
And I know you'll never read the book
And you'll probably never care to look
But I wrote you a story
And it's for you, my glory
I don't think you'll ever get the catch
And you'll probably never think the best
So I wrote us a story
And I made it contain love
And I made it contain lies
And I made it contain heartbreak
But everybody's score tied . . .
And my end score made the tiebreak
So it must have been revised
So I stopped writing stories.
|
|
