Let's fess up to fire CrackerJack snacks
And a piggy bank built and filled
To be spilled and broken
Hammy fat fingers pinch
Clammy cold coins
All the leaves left
Wither a sickly brittle brown
I'm dying to tell you, I'm dying
I don't need a reason

You've got yourself such a comfortable trap
Yes, I am talking to you
Yes, I know this is shameless
Yes, I am talking to you
You've got yourself such a comfortable trap
And you are shameless

A matinee of sunshine ribbons on a sheetless mattress
Moonlighting as swooning
Moonlight isn't really from the moon at all
I am shining smiles and flowery glows
I am drunk in the breeze in the park chasing kites and splashing puddles
Forget-me-nots in my gut
That's what you get
We nibbled our butter cookie rings to the knuckle
Artichoke trophies choked down through Nevada sandy enzymes
Past ribs choking scorching hearts
Down to an autotrophic stomach
I called her June until late last spring
Quite possibly March leap year
Automatic trophies aren't shit