THE CALENDAR HUNG ITSELF
across the country we plotted out my death
in every city, memories would whisper, 'Here is where you rest'
I was determined in Chicago but I dug my teeth into my knees,
and I settled for a telephone and sang into your machine
'you are my sunshine, my only sunshiiine
you are my sunshine, my only suunshine'
and I kissed a girl with a broken jaw that her father gave to her
she had eyes bright enough to burn me. they reminded me of yours
and in a story told she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field
and there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed
and it rose like thunder, clapped under our hands
and it stretched for centuries to a diary entry’s end where I wrote,
'you make me happy! oh, when skies are grey
you make me happy oh when skies are grey and grey ..'
well the clock’s heart it hangs inside its open chest
with its hands stretched towards the calendar hanging itself
but I will not weep for those dying days
for all the ones who've left there's a few that stayed
and they found me here and pulled me from the grass where I was laid