August 22, 2003

I've collected you up

into ripped pieces of paper

with your name and number

a heart and

"call me later"

you've written down your excuses

and left them on the table

with the mail

and a scribbled sign that says

"love for sale"

I take my own advice

and climb aboard the ride

as I slowly read your reasons

and don't have the energy

to wonder if you lied

I'm just bored with being a bore

tired of spending the night

with the same old whore

but the bars are closed

and it's time to go home

but it's not home anymore

and I'm not going there alone

so I crawl down the street

in a moment of haste

so what if I didn't leave with you

there's too much time to waste

and not enough things to do

there aren't very many options

another doctor perscribed

friday night

we'll feel a whole lot better

if it ends in a fight

there's still a few more chances to take

while the sleeping stars are unafraid

a few more corners to wait on

when I'm waiting on you

a few more days of this

before I tell you I'm through