That's right, that's right
Another night of too much cough syrup
I am awakened by the incessant ringing of a telephone
I still have dreams caked in the corners of my eyes and my mouth is dry and tastes shitty

Again, the ringing
Slowly, I bustle out of bed
The remnants of an erection still lingering in my shorts like a bothersome guest

Again the ringing
Carefully I abscond to the bathroom as to not display my manhood to others
There I make the perfunctory morning faces
Which always seem to precede my daily contribution
To the once blue toilet water
That I always enjoy making green

Again, the ringing
I shake twice like most others
And I am annoyed by the dribble that always seems to remain
Causing a small acreage of wetness on the front of my briefs
I slowly, languidly, lazily, crazily stumble into the den
Where my father smokes his guitars—I mean cigars—In his easy chair
I know all about easy chairs

And then I sing a song for my friends
"Jesus is my boyfriend
Jesus is my boyfriend
You can't have him
Because Jesus is my boyfriend"
Ringing, ringing
Dang it, goddamn motherfucking son-of-a-bitch is ringing
I walk into the kitchen and I stare, blankly, at that shrieking plastic bastard
Since it keeps ringing I know it's her
Since it keeps ringing she knows it's me

We are the world, we are the children
We are the ones who make a darker day
So let's start killing
There's a choice you're making
We're sparing our own lives
It's true, we'll make a darker day
Just you and me