All alone, on the floor, next to your twin bed box spring and mattress
The door is ajar. From afar, you can hear bands practicing
And when they dream, they all dream of somebody like you —
Somebody who takes what they make
Twice as seriously as they could ever hope to
And when you dream, you dream of a day
When you find something you can love
Half as much as you love all your little round mirrors.
See yourself reflected in one:
There’s a hole in the middle you can’t seem to fill
Bring them home, watch them go —
All you know is you hope they’ll hurry back
And you cry, then you lie your frail body down
Like a penny on a railroad track
And even if they stay in touch, the past stays in the past
But every time you crash a little bit harder than the last
And every time you crash, don’t you
Want to find something you can love
Half as much as you love all your little round mirrors?
See yourself reflected in one:
There’s a hole in the middle you can’t seem to fill
A shooting star is a little piece of cosmic debris
desperately wanting to fall to earth. It doesn’t get too far;
it’s not a real star. It’s hardly even worth footnotes in your memoir. Shoulder to
shoulder, up on our tiptoes, chewing our fingers,
craning our necks just to see. Quite the collection. Divide by section.
It’s just a surrogate connection leaving you:
All alone, on the floor, next to your twin bed box spring and mattress
The door’s still ajar. There you are and there you’re going to stay until
You can find someone who will love you
as much as you love all your little round mirrors.
Murdering your time in cold blood:
There’s a hole in the middle you can’t seem to fill