Burn This Note After

God phones and says that you and I

Are too day-dreamy that we know

Nothing of our past and tend toward

Some unreachable infinite assignation

First of all he's wrong so far as I can tell

Secondly we would have to do everything

The opposite just to avoid our own boredom

And then where would we be?

You teach me when to sing the stars awake

And I show you where to whisper dawn

Down from the empty sky

Which brings tomorrow O tomorrow!

God says we break the storehouse locks

That we incite transparent hearts he keeps there

He says we stretch dried skin

Over leagues of language and call it mother

God says we transgress all that we believe

At any given moment

That we become the apocalyptic look

That we don’t care at whom we stare

It’s true we sometimes are content to watch

Only us and we know this and pretend

Not to gaze at us O we’ve come such a long way

Corralling our coltishly flatulent souls

It's true we will perish and no one will have seen

Our souls except us and it would not have been

Out of the question to have been born

A couple ponies kicking up happy farts in a field