i’ll right another way
if you write another wrong
i’ll kill my ego
if you can kill my song
but you can’t
because i do it all the time
make myself full of rhyme
turn myself off until i chime
i chime for you
on my mother’s staircase
she likes to erase all the
blue turned black
on my mother’s whole house
she takes out the whole couch
and throws it in the street
like my mother’s porch
that she thought she’d beautify
so now, i’m watching all my bargain buys
simply magnify
the simply mystery of vacancy
in my mother’s eyes.
my mother’s eyes.
just blind gomorrah’s eyes.
i’ll right another way
if you write another wrong
i’ll kill my ego
if you can kill my song
but you can’t
because i do it all the time
make myself full of rhyme
turn myself off until i chime
i chime for you
on my father’s couch
i used to wonder why
all the demon pretties
just keep coming here to die
on my father’s watch
i wished i could kill time
i think i’d be a whole party
drinking down the lime
dancing down the line
wondering why the time
has passed us by
don’t pass me by.
i’ll right another way
if you write another wrong
i’ll kill my ego
if you can kill my song
but you can’t
because i do it all the time
make myself full of rhyme
turn myself off until i chime
i chime for you
like the chime on my mother’s porch
the one my dad will torch
for annoying him from sunshine
til sundown and right now it’s all mine.
the sin i have to bear
i’ll always have to hear
you did it wrong
you did it bad
alyssa why did you hurt your own self
on the mattress that you lay on?
i guess it’s yours to play on
we don’t have money to buy a new one.
stop hurting yourself–
in the middle of the night.
he’ll kill it all to shit
he’ll take the hit for it
but the chime won’t stop chiming
and he just won’t stop being himself
and my mother won’t stop lying
about her disgusting hatred of herself.
the one she puts on me
and shouts it naked from a tree
with maggie
“alyssa put some clothes on”
they all can see me.
why can’t you just be me?
i can’t, so now i’m 25.
lost the will to survive
then they make you nine.
i guess you’re now just mine.
scary, but still
i’ll find the time to chime
and annoy the birds, perched
on my mother’s renovated porch.
