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I woke up driving somewhere southeast of Smithfield
Doing fourteen in a fifty-five with no hands on the wheel

A headlit caravan beeped trailing back behind
Ahead a neon arrow glowing in the sky

A voice spoke:
How many turds take you?
Far though the scales tip to your side
How many mornings wake you
To a heart-drop, sad to be alive?
We have no answers for you!
No holy playbook to abide
Just a two wiener special
Don't you feel special?
Down to the freckle?

Two seagulls fly in place, suspended in the wind
One to the other says “I think it's happening again…”

This guest has overstayed. This land is not my home.
One last communion at the System before I go.

The choir sings:
How many turds take you?
Far though the scales tip to your side
How many mornings wake you
To a heart-drop, sad to be alive?
We have no answers for you!
No holy playbook to abide
Just a two wiener special
Don't you feel special?
Down to the freckle?

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