Deep inside the country, he went out for some air Amid an awful night of eating household objects on a dare A tea towel, a handful of refrigerator magnets, and a watch
He staggered through the mudroom, got sick out in the street The towel in tiny pieces, magnetic letters neat And now arranged in such a way that they should spell his lover's name And time was of the essence
The engine turning over, the summons in the shop He could not recall the number, but he knew it was a lot His belly warm with drink He leaned into the freeway in the night
Investigating exit ramps, waiting for a sign Scanning up the A.M. band, sliding down the vine He felt his stomach turn again and pulled off at the park She was standing in the black oak, carving poems in the bark
Planted in the café, her bloodied saber drawn Marking up the manuscript, hard against the dawn She turns on the recorder and pulls a nervous breath before she speaks "7 A.M. Tuesday, January 9 Realizing this may put my career on the line" The café man approaches, with a corded phone and tells her "It's for you"
Somewhere in the static, a disembodied voice The circumstances changed, she will not have a choice The line dies, crackles soft, then sputters back to life "They found him at the black oak, they dug him up last night"
(7 A.M. Tuesday, January 9) (7 A.M. Tuesday, January 9)Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
