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i'm not a ladies man, i'm a landmine
filming my own fake death
under an '88 cavalier i go
but-but-but-but nothing but the rear bumper's blown
but i's born for this flight,
united 955 on the fifth of july
back the SFO
i join the dark side
in a thin disguise caught
on consumer grade video at the height

faking suicide for applause
in the food courts of malls
and cursing racing horses on tiered steps
playing the wall at singles bingo
all time gringo
did anyone hear me cry there
through a toilet stall divider
i swear i care.

i am an example of a calculated birth
to a star chart for clowns, im not
under robins' eggs in a nest, you hit a manilla
envelope with one last little robins' egg in it;

a hollow bullet yet spent.
subject to dismissal
i wish all my pitfalls
could be called by this call:

cheery-a cheery-e cheery-i cheery-o cheery-u