Jets To Brazil

the curtain's a sea anemone
in the way it sways
to the slow breeze
I lie spread out on the floor
looking at these things
and most of them are yours
and it's so nice
sitting very still
without those old shoes
I could never fill
starfish with its arms out in a daze
staring at the stars
through an ocean haze
was I one you wished upon?
burned out like a lightbulb
when you turned me on
and it's so nice
sleeping here all alone
with my ashtray and
white courtesy telephone