On North Albina in a house that's spacious and old, I'm 
under blankets though my toes, they are still cold 
regardless. My head is stuffy and there's a toilet paper 
roll slowly depleting as I cough up a lung. At the 
upstairs window, I'm on the level with power lines. I'm 
sick for one thing, then there's some horrible stuff on 
my mind. (I won't recount it.) I've got a sunbeam 
headache  yeah, the light's driving me blind. I wish I 
had a dime for all these songs I've sung today with a 
scratchy throat and burnt-out eyes. May's first week has 
given us something to fight: springtime pollen makes it 
hard to sleep at night and rest easy. Garlic tea is 
heating on the stove to fuel the words that I'll rewrite 
and I wish I had a dime for each time the phone has rung 
for someone else  while I'm waiting on the bright red 
floor to be carried away to a place that I'll like much 
more, where every day the scenery will be changing and 
pressing back the dwelling. On North Albina in a house 
that's spacious and old, I'm under blankets though my 
toes, they are still cold regardless. My head is stuffy 
and there's a toilet paper roll slowly depleting as I 
cough up a lung.