The Sandman

Rolling a spliff
the day after Christmas
on top on my gift
a book by Thomas Pynchon
which I intend
to read all day

My liver hangs limp
awash in a bathtub
I’m on the phone
trying to make up some lie
that you might believe

‘Cause what are we
if not the closest of friends
so what’s it really matter then
where the fantasy begins?

Or if the truth lies broken
like a child on the floor
you do not want me anymore
and so I simply can’t afford
to be caught outside your door
with my heart
in my
ha-a-a-ands
ha-a-a-ands
ha-a-a-an-a-a-a...a-a-ands
Doing lines of K
in a sinking motel room
thinking of ways
I could tell you
just how high
I got today

A computer plays soul
I can’t find my cell phone
it’s probably my mom wondering
what time I’ll be home
but I couldn’t say
I really can’t say a thing

But it wasn’t you
who went and did this to me
It’s just a place I read about that I had to come and see
and if you think I’m being funny
just take a look at my eyes

Do you see anything inside
do you think anything survived
do you think anything’s alive?

I’ve got nothing left to hide at all

I am made of
sa-a-a-and
sa-a-a-and
sa-a-a-an-a-a-a...a-a-and