http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MBFXJw7n-fU Sometimes it is Saturday morning and you are flying on autopilot, And the song comes on, That accidentally made it’s way onto the playlist, That you made to get pumped up for packing up your half of the apartment, While your first boyfriend that was also a roommate, Is working at the Old Navy on State Street.
The flagship store, Where the black man, In the blue suit, That wheels along a rock-band speaker, And a microphone, On a homemade dolly, Is advertising the End of the World.
He needs to tell you, That the only way to save yourself, Is to give it up to Jesus.
He accepts donations, In a Forever21 Bag, That has John 3:16, Printed on the bottom.
When the song is over, And you are back to Saturday morning. Like someone dropped you off at home, But you were sleeping in the car, And by the time you realize, They are gone and you didn’t say goodbye.
And while you head is full of static, Your heart is a sink hole. Like the one the 8 year old boy fell into on top of Mount Baldy.
Which is still closed for research.
And the orange tape blows, And the wind carries it away. And a bird that is flying the same wind, Catches it. And makes a nest.
Or eats it. And maybe the bird doesn’t die this time. But it will. Eventually.