It’s a holey bucket that holds the holy water.
It’s a gutter that brings it to me.
It’s a teaspoon that I use to carry.
Now it’s a small pond, but I swim in it for free.
All my clothes are tattered and torn
like a flag from the revolution.
O Miss Already, I’ll be a poet for you
and then some.
I’m just two feet from the highway.
A scattered brain shuffling a deck of cards.
But if you wanted me to, I’d give up my gambling
just to pull the weeds from your backyard.
I aint got a dollar, aint even got a dime,
but a millionaire I am in time.
O Miss Already, I want you
to spend yours with mine.
It’s a January spring, all the leaves are confused.
The world’s worshipping its own mistakes,
but I can’t take my eyes off you
to wait patiently with pointless rakes.
In my heart, I want to do my part.
In my mind, I just want to make it clear.
O Miss Already, why don’t you and me
just disappear.