Sunday, July 5, 2043

is the day I’m supposed to die

and I’ll sit at a big table

with champagne, buffalo wings, and apple pie

and me and some hot babe will

fly off and have a picnic in the sky

we’ll leave all the toe pinching monsters of Jable

Jable the city where the citizens cry

And me and that hot babe will

Get drunk and make love on the table

of our fancy funky picnic in the sky

but down in the shitty city of Jable

where two headed mother snakes hide in horse stable

and the talking fruits named Gayi

who are emptied into the pool so that they may die

in the unhappy shitty city of Jable

that me and the hot babe fly over in the blueberry sky

But the unhappy Gayi

Get turned into weapons that try and shoot us out of the sky

But now I am some old TV show guy

Running over fences like an alien cause I’m no longer in the sky

And I’m smoking a cheap cigar, the cherry flies off and falls in my eye

And my eye penetrates my brain, and I fall to the ground body towards the sky

Because Sunday, July 5, 2043 is when I die