Slowed down and drowsy.
But I’m afraid to go to sleep.
In another life I think you would’ve been
a common thief picking pockets on the street.

This will be my St. "Helayna".
A lonely island in the sea.
And don’t you tell me it’s "Heleena" ‘cause you weren’t
the one who spent their best years exiled in defeat.

I put my shoes on in the morning
“Do I like it?” “Yes.” I’m lying through my teeth.
My high school placement test that laid out my careers
said I only had two options: one was priest.

But the other was bus driver. You know
I think that that test got the best of me.
My religious inclinations withered there
and my navigator’s knowledge, never keen.

(Chord Chorus)

Maybe if I swing my arms ‘round
my knuckles will just scrape along the brick.
And when I pull them back to put some pressure on
I’ll be wide awake and know that did the trick.

Oh please help me dear Diana:
Save this man who’s slowly growing sick.
You stand there in the center of my island looking down
Ringed by tree ferns on your slopes so green and thick.

Someone stuck me on a bus here
the sense of irony is stinging, water wicks
from the corner of my eyes meant to expel
the tiny pollen from the stamen always sticks.

I have an idea and a notebook
And the pen I hold is cheap, it is a Bic.
But when I touch it to the paper I can see you reading.
I press the button on the top, the stylus clicks.

(Chord Chorus)

Good God, I’m sleeping.
You know there was a time I could control my dreams.
But now I find these faces making their intrusions
much more often and I don’t know what this means.

Sometimes I wish I’d been a pilot
or the captain of a vessel sleek and clean.
But instead I chose the path of least resistance
like the rain becomes the river to the sea.

And you always pop up smiling.
Saying “Play another song you wrote for me..”
I wake up wanting only just to sleep again
hoping that I’ll see you there, my Josephine..

Somehow I forgot my manners
I began with subtle slander, which was mean.
I only meant to make an observation. Your demeanor
Is unruly in ways I’ve seldom seen.

(Chord Chorus)

Oh my God, is this still going?
I thought this would have ended long ago
But my desiccated brain is slowly aging
When seeds fall in the sidewalk cracks they grow.

And into cracks the workmen pour hot tar
They wipe the sweat from off their brows while down below.
The sticky blackish boiling fruit of all their daily labors
Fails to do much more than hide what seeds have sown.

Please forgive me Josephine.
When it comes to power or a rose
I sacrificed your scent for reason and convenience
but isolation makes me doubt my nose.

So now I’ll just try to salvage
What is left that was endemic so they’ll know
That I was made of more than someone else’s plantings
Invasive species surely have to go.