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Swing
It's the bottom of the ninth
every night before four a.m,
I'm singing in my sleep
the count,
three balls
two strikes
bases loaded
some big huge american dream
up to bat,
The pitcher has thrown a no hitter
but the world is watching
him sweat a river from the mound
to the ground at Sampson's feet,
The Earth swells as breathing diminishes
all signs of nervous system irregularities,
It's scaring the children into doing their homework
making the poor dog look mighty hungry,
It's the bottom of the ninth
and I've been striking out my whole life,
Just this once I don't want it to be a
swing and a miss,
I want to make someone a Misses,
To glue my eyeballs to the back
of some woman's skull who I can't get enough of
when we first wake up,
Someone who will make the dreams
come back
When you've felt love
nothing else is real anymore,
You're chasing it forever after that
one moment when you found the dragon,
Realizing I'll be gone one day
makes this moment paramount
It's the bottom of the ninth,
bases loaded,
three balls
two strikes
Every single perfect guy
comes up to bat
and they always
knock it out of the park,
Must be nice
