There's a dollar bill where the rain gets in. I haven't moved since I don't know when; I just haven't had the time. It takes twenty four hours just to pass a minute. I've got to get up and get out and get it, but I'm confused about what is mine. When the moon dies slowly from lack of love and Dick and Jane separate and divorce. When art becomes art and we act our passions, and lipstick smiles have turned to actions, between the lies and what is true, I will be waiting for you. So I'll count my calories, and act my age. I'll wear what's hip, whatever the rage, like I'm on a TV show. I've got to be near you. I can't be alone. I click my heels, but I can never go home. It's something I've always known. I can scream and shout, but there's a wall between what I know and what I can recall. It's not like me to languish and waste. It's the fanasy I love, the reality I hate. There's a dollar bill where the rain gets in.
return to the LMs UCLA Sessions page
return to The Liberal Materialists Page