Postal Address

I stay up late now
Rise with the sun
Head in a vice and
A phone in my arms
I was trying to call you
To say what you want
I was trying to call you
Sick to my stomach

I got your psychic
Postal address and
I sent a postcard
Straight to your head
I hope that you get it
I hope it makes sense
I thought of the ocean
Thought of your legs

I rest my head
You stumble in

Roof's getting damaged
Hail's coming
A meteor shower
Rattling tin
I'd say it is soothing
The world could be ending
'least I imagine
Call me John Lennon

I got a paycheck
Straight to my landlord
House that we wanted
We can't afford it
Beats where we last were
House made of cardboard
In the city
Busy and bored