Bright Eyes

virginia is almost sleeping
the night is getting older
there is static on the tv
and she's lying on the sofa
the cats crawl over her
jenny is in the garage
she's got the car in neutral
she rolls it out so quietly
it's saturday as usual
it always is
and me I'm in my bedroom drawing in my notebook
because my hand thinks I'm an artist
but my heart knows I'm a poet
It's just words they mean so little to me
i can't seem to deal with total trust
there is something very wrong with me