We're lucky the clock won't strike forty-five
Or we'd be stuck here in anticipatory silence,
Waiting for that doomsday bell to chime;
And if we tried to speak
Or chill the heat
They'd leap on us like hyenas -
Like laughing hyenas.
Laughing, you turn their heads and mine -
I didn't think it was that funny -
But I'll remember hyenas next time I need a line
To pull myself out
Or reel you in
It's worth it just for the smile -
And maybe they forgot about the time.
This time, they're all resplendent in green -
Shades of verdant, overblown envy
As sweat glistens on their pale brows with a slimy sheen
They're ready, green means go
Green means go!
Quarter to seven, they're off -
Off like the Four Horsemen, or the Dogs of War
Screaming "Havoc!" into three hours of Hell
We both lag behind, you're afraid, I wonder what for
No trace of green on you
You're red like a Valentine's Day Slaughter
I'm read like an open book
And I don't care for the warm, privileged few
Or the lost multitudes, cold and shaking,
Lingering in the glacial latitudes
Of their own making.
Has apathy hit me so hard that I've forgotten where it struck?
Just pick up a crayon and color me fucked:
Green with envy, red with passion -
It's like Christmas, but without the scars,
And the snowflakes, and stars, and change.
It's too painful to watch this anyway
And I have a hell of an itch
That's just beyond my reach.
The green hurts my eyes, it's everywhere now -
It's there on that big invisible monster in the corner
That lies cloaked by selective vision and a myopic crowd.
Can't they see it's all a show?
One more stop on the road?
Can't they let it go and see what I found?
They're so blind that they can't see the clock tick
They only hear it strike for right now,
They ignore the calendar as I give it another flip,
One month down, seven to go.
The edge of the paper slices across my hand
As I think of their blissfully unaware faces.
A clock strikes twenty seven,
Your eyes rest worriedly on my face.
I could care less about the rest of them
It's all just a fucking disgrace -
Their dirty looks and their arrogance
And their naivety, oblivious to consequence.
They're unaware of all the things that plague me,
The calendar melting away before my eyes,
Caught up in their petty little Wednesday scene.
A September stab of pain from my hand beckons my eyes
And I'm bleeding green.