Climb the highest mountain, punch the face of god

WHAT IS IT?

If you lived here, you
Would be home by now
But saddened to a fault
And hating your own dejected existence.
Like everyone is counting
On you for some kind of decorum.

While living in my pile
Of disturbance and bereavement,
Cursing my own home life,
I wish there was something else.
Is there something else?
What is it?
What is it?
What is it?
What is it?

September 14, 2004



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WHAT IS IT?

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