I always do my best to fight it,
But sometimes his breakfast starts at dinner.
Those screams remind me of you
Not because they're girl screams,
And not because you're gay,
But because those screams are how I'd
Imagine you'd scream if I didn't wake up someday.
When I think of the sounds of the screams
A scale reading closer to zero would cause;
I pray the bathroom is soundproof'd,
Because how could you explain smiling
To a mirror that's obviously lying,
And making your throat sore from crying?
Really, what kind of screams would I hear
If I told you real-life support was only a road trip away
From your nearest Walmart?
I'd like to imagine they'd be little girl screams
And the happy screams of realizing that
I don't have enough gas money to get back home.
But we'll strike it rich saving on the money we'd never spend on food.
We'd get a flat in Paris, maybe England, and meet Brian Froud.
Then it's back to dear old France, where you can see Tank
And maybe bed him while I watch British sitcoms and
America's Next Top Model (I've always loved Twiggy).
Our stomachs may hurt but we'll lean on each other for support
And I'll let you smoke if you want to while I go outside
And write a "sorry for failing" letter to our parents who
Didn't want us to scream in the first place.
And what kind of scream would I hear
If you came running to me saying,
"I haven't eaten in a year!"
Definitely not the same scream you'd hear
If I didn't wake up someday.