That was the most I could get out of him.
I'm sure he's got more on his mind
Than toast. A little jam, marmalade,
A fat, green loan for my future.
Something for the new sisters
To jump around on when I'm gone.
I'm not sure what his plans are.
Someday I'll ask for the blueprint.
The schedule for my feeble life.
Where he keeps his lonely carton
And where I can shove mine
Through the silent, gaping hole,
Closing longer every hour.
Now is not the time.
Now is not the time.
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