The Light Comes on by Itself

The light comes on by itself
And just as independently off
It goes into the strange sounds of breathing
I am waiting for you to love me

The grass grows and
Ants are clambering laboriously over the windowsill
Near the paling clouds
I am waiting for you to love me

Now a death enters and dumps
Suits and dresses out into the
Street where the holes are filled and oil stains spread
I am waiting for you to love me

I have a penchant for sad red bricks
And the sun burning itself out up there
For toll booths and water towers and
I am waiting for you to love me

Now these streets are becoming winding
The house is falling down not being torn
While I am looking for a right-angle street avenue boulevard anything
I am waiting for you to love me