would unfolding kill the airwaves
streaking through my back, pull them
stretched tight, elongate a little and they snap
would awaking trick the sunset
reverse dusk into dawn
day rising in the west as my feet hit the floor
would my eyes saturate
fill with light and inflate
big and bright but i can't see past the glare
would i stretch out my arms
and never put them down
always reaching for the sky, always reaching for the sky...
and i still get up ... every day
well the birds after dawn
they're self-concious and they'd stop
singing songs if they knew my ears could hear
dreams rehearse all day for
productions unrivaled in this world
but they're daily forgotten
and the lucky ones that slide
into waking memory
never quite survive
my feeble retellings
(not to mention you don't care)
and the blankets get cold without me get cold without me
get cold without me
get       cold       without       me
and i still get up ... every day
would unfolding kill the airwaves
streaking through my back, pull them
stretched tight elongate a little and they snap
the radio song for guilty sleepers-in
BacK
copyright 2003 daniel s.
zimmerman