The Telephone

Another night of too much cough syrup

I'm awakened by the incessant ringing of a telephone

I still have dreams caked in the corners of my eyes

and my mouth is dry and tastes shitty



Again the ringing



Slowly I bustle out of bed

The remnants of an erection still lingering in my shorts

Like a bothersome guest



Again the ringing



Carefully I abscond to the bathroom

As to not display my manhood to others

There I make the perfunctory morning faces

Which always seem to precede my daily contribution

To the once-blue toilet water

That I always enjoy making green



Again the ringing



I shake twice like most others

and I'm annoyed by the dribble that always seems to remain

Causing a small acreage of wetness on the front of my briefs

I slowly languidly, lazily, crazily,

Stumble into the den

Where my father smokes his guitars

I mean cigars

In his easy chair

I know all about easy chairs

and then I sing a song for my friends



Jesus is my boyfriend

Jesus is my boyfriend

You can't have him

Because jesus is my boyfriend



Ringing ringing

Dang it goddamn motherfucking son-of-a-bitch is ringing

I walk into the kitchen and I

Stare blankly at that shrieking plastic bastard

Since it keeps ringing I know it's her

and since it keeps ringing she knows it's me



We are the world, we are the children

We are the ones who make a darker day

So let's start killing

There's a choice you're making

We're sparing our own lives

It's true we'll make a darker day

Just you and me