in the circuit,
the frequency's breaking up.
the speakers can barely move
this is not a test
tune to the broadcast.
witness the jetlag.
look in the mirror.
adjust the V-hold
shatter the lens.
pull out the shards.
choke on her words.
caught in your throat.

how long can the wheels
maintain a spin,
at this velocity?
on every block, a reminder:
you can't stop this intersection.
at every turn,
dead forests of tenements
rise like antennas.
the miles are adding up and
the days are counting down.
cut the jet black
from my hair before
we're bathed in the dawn
of New Year's Day.

I will change back to myself
in the flame,
we burn like the paper hearts
of dead presidents.
we're too lost,
to lose hope.
maybe the night seems so dark
because the day
is much too bright
for us to see
that we are cured.
(shatter the lens.
pull out the shards).
we are cured
(choke on her words,
caught in your throat).

that's the sound of music from
another room
the piano player
hangs from piano wire
but the player piano
carries on.
sit back and tune to the
broadcast.
this is not a test

shatter the lens.
pull out the shards.
choke on her words.
caught in your throat.
as the language dissolves
and the sentence lists,
a slow alphabet of rain
is whispering,
'aabcttipacbdefg...'
since I replaced the I in live with
an O,
I can't remember who you are...

...but tomorrow I'll be you,
just pick up the phone.
I'm calling from your house,
in your room,
in your name,
lying in your bed,
following your dreams.
I listen to your voice get caught in my throat
as I sing.
'This Is Just A Dream.'

on New Year's day,
we will change back to ourselves.
in the flame
we are cured.

we are cured.

we are cured.