Eighteen inches de The Lawrence Arms

Face down on the ground
storm clouds lie in white snow piles all around
i don't know if i can make it through one more winter in this town
voted worst in show the last two years
i got a refill on my tears -- another bottle of foam yellowed clear
the old man twitching on the train
reminds us of mortality
the snow everywhere
reminds us of the rain
and my burned and brittle skin
cracked and blistered in the wind
is testament to repetition as the impossible happens again
q: so, what's your new years resolution?
a: take off those ten unsightly pounds
the snow is piling higher and your face is growing closer to the ground
raising your glass at the office party
or photocopying your secretary's ass
is no less pathetic than
our self righteously self important tasks
of barfing rhetoric on shiny table tops
as our collars and turtlenecks choke us right there in the coffee shops
winter will not wait for you
ironically, your worst dream has come true: pontification means nothing
when i woke up and looked around
i found that my dreams had melted into dirty puddles on the ground