The timer on the oven always makes me sad ‘cause
I constantly set it and it’s five minutes fast.
And I pick up the phone with no dial tone but I shrug off the
Call ‘cause they never are home.
And im tired of running out of spit,
exhausted of talking for the hell of it
the days of the week they never change names
and my timecard is different but the paychecks the same.
The yellow pages sit on my floor, hysterical with pity
I have no one to call. I haven’t done Laundry in ever so long
that nothing will fit no matter what I try on
And a table and chairs just aren’t enough
When the table is empty and the time is up
And I’m angry.
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