If there was absolutely anything, ANYTHING left to say i would speak
(shake off the feeling of perfection in scripts)
i have lived another day.
And today was the day violets were born

in little jewels under the apple tree.
They opened up like my own fingers finally touching.

i tried to send one to you.
i sucked it dry and put it in an envelope,
Knowing all along you would just sit there

And hope it was a Sunday

(today is the day he's coming back)

Well praise the Lord,
Today I breathed.
Today I wrote something down with my eyes shut.
(my hitchhiker mind found a ride)

It's not so much that this day doesn't matter,
It's just that I've grown taller than that mark on the wall.
Looking down and seeing my own feet--
My God they're so still.

If i had a dime for every time I've actually thought,
I'd have but one.
And it wouldn't be shiny or new,
It'd be tossed over God's shoulder

(I'm pretty sure it was your entrance fee to heaven)
And another reason for a hole to tear in my pocket.

It's not surprising where my existence goes in May:

(not only Maybe)
In clich's and forced flows and nothingness.
But today I finally could not speak.
(my fingers found an end and touched in the depths of my pockets)