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It’s 12 o’clock in the morning
and I miss the hair between my eyebrows
like I miss the bright orange wreath of my car
he asks, –what do you want me to do with the plates?–
I think on the question like
a death row inmate ponders the color of his last shoes
–Recycle them and make the world happy.–

The right side of my brain takes coup
My Will makes me giggle at reality
I don’t want a last ride
a last kiss
a last goodbye
If you had to make an effort
than I wasn’t that important to begin with
Just save your precious guitar picker
and keep on singing the same old song you are used to sing’n

This average gal wants more than ever
to be the cold pressed wheat germ oil
that heals a hopeless heart
fresh baked smell to wake the soul
that finally feels hunger
the ordinary is meaningful and the mundane is beautiful

The Will smiles back,
What do you really need that I can’t possibly give in my living breath?
What are you living for that you really can’t live without?
If I can answer those two questions,
than I think I found what success smells like