AN EMPTY PAPERCUP BLOWS ACROSS THE ROAD
LIKE IT WAS LATE FOR WORK ON THE FIRST DAY OF SPRING
AND I'LL JUST STAY HERE SITTING ON THE CURB
COLLECTING DUST FROM ALL THE YEARS THAT THE FEVER BRINGS TO MIND
IF I GIVE IT TIME I WILL RECOGNIZE
THE OUTLINE OF A HEART OF NOTHING MORE
THAN STYROFOAM, AND IT'S NOT THAT STRONG
WEATHERED FROM HANGING ON TO A PAPERCUP FULL OF
DREAMS I LIVE FOR.
AND THERE MIGHT COME A DAY WHEN THE DREAMS
MIGHT JUST BLOW AWAY
THAT'S WHEN IT ALL COLLIDED PERFECTLY,
CAN'T YOU SEE THAT.
SOMEBODY NEEDS YOU SOMEBODY WANTS YOU TO CARE
HE'LL BE WAITING PATIENTLY FOR YOU
IN THE HOUR YOU JUST CAN'T WIN
YOU JUST CAN'T WIN
THE LAUNDRY HANGS FROM A LINE IN THE AIR
LIKE IT WAS PUT THERE BY A POET.
WHO NEVER COULD RHYME WORDS WITH THE LIFE HE LIVED
AND HIS ARTWORK NEVER SHOWED IT.
EVERYDAY HE SET SAIL THROUGH COLORS AND PEARLS
AND UNCHARTED BLUE SKY
HE RETURNED UNINSPIRED WITH EMPTY EYES
AS IF THE LAUNDRY ON THE LINE HAD NEVER DRIED
AND THERE WAS MORE TO THIS THAN JUST A SOUL IN SEARCH OF WORDS
THAT'S WHEN IT ALL COLLIDED PERFECTLY
CAN'T YOU SEE THAT
