Must have been March when Tracy drove in the river
I stood there useless as a borrowed cat
Must have been ten years until Tim followed under
Although I really didn’t mind about that
Then all the folk I heard about after high school
Who took a short cut with a gun or a pill
And all the nights looking around for my chances
Oncoming traffic or a tree or a hill
And then the dreams supposed to portend the ending:
A lion carrying a corpse in her teeth
Shaving my beard as birds rise up from my hair
Talking with crows or red or falling asleep
Wouldn’t it be nice?
Oh, wouldn’t it be nice?
So there’s this sickness that orbits around me
Dances from pelvis to the crown of my head
The suspicion that it’s just some suspension
Or liberation or it’s nothing instead
And on some days everything’s shivering and pale
And I’m carrying a corpse in my teeth
And memory just hasn’t been so benign
And looking forward’s gotten ragged and cheap
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