| After salvaging a good but rotting wood bass guitar
|
| On a late night trip to the city dump
|
| The man with the dirty disco twelve inch hands
|
| Got in his light blue van
|
| And heading to the school dance
|
| He noticed cold water creeping up the cuffs of his pants
|
| He swerved to dodge two people
|
| Planting flowers in the middle of the on-ramp
|
| And as the water level in the van, it began to rise
|
| He attributed the water to the bass guitar
|
| (and that’s probably why it was in the trash in the first place)
|
| And as the water got to the bottom of his ribcage
|
| He thought about his laundry in the back
|
| And the brand new dress shirt
|
| And how the water’d sog the starch right out of the collar
|
| He probably should have pulled right over to the shoulder
|
| But he was late for the dance
|
| And he couldn’t reach the bass from where he sat
|
| To throw it out the window
|
| He was five minutes from where the function was
|
| And he could hold his breath for two or so minutes if he must
|
| Brand new skinny ghost
|
| I don’t trust tall dudes as far as I can throw 'em — that isn’t far
|
| Meet your brand new angel monster
|
| Microwave, meet your maker
|
| But if i could, I’d throw 'em head first into the ground like a javelin.
|
| And leave 'em there. |
| Feet protruding out of the dirt like his headstone:
|
| here lies tall dude
|
| Brand new skinny ghost
|
| Meet your brand new angel monster
|
| Microwave, meet your maker
|
| Brand new skinny ghost
|
| Meet your brand new angel monster
|
| Microwave, meet your maker |