Danielle Ate the Sandwich Follow

I'm drunk on puddles laying thick inside the gutters lined with leaves
and some unfortunate fourth grader's math homework flew away
and I'm set on sinking sure of nothing short of flapjacks stacked high
in the morning we'll have breakfast and by these rules I choose to live and die
so sweet the water from the faucet drips into the bowl
where porcelain lovers brace the curves of where I put my cereal
and I'm carving marble with the marks left by my boots
casting shadows unsuccessful in their efforts to go where I dont move
and I will leave you in the springtime send your letters to Colorado
and so your bridges mock the water bragging strength and spilling wide
and underground your tunnels hum with trains that trust the tracks they ride
and I will leave you in the springtime when your flowers bloom
and windows open to busy streets so full of people passing by
I'll be sad to say all of these goodbyes
but I'll never know just what it means to be in your arms when the birds are singing
and the sun is brighter than before and the heat is all there is to breath
I'm going home to someone that I once knew
the licorice lips of women kept in stockings and skirts too high
honk after cars of business men still breathing air but not alive
and the Jezebels and jokermen paint colours on eighth avenue
and I'm chasing cracks on sidewalk paths to know I can still move
and I will leave you in the springtime send your letters to Colorado
where I'll be
where I'll be
where I'll be