This is my life:
A girl that loves me
in the next room
dialing wrong telephone numbers.
She desperately needs to get in touch with me,
or god, or some body.
A finger hunting for the right disease
in a moon lit room full of monkeys
does not scare me.
A life on the tracks is ok
as long as you don’t believe in anything.
I would touch Jesus
if he promised not to touch me back.
So why does she believe in me?
I’m a monster,
minus the tail,
killing the wind.
