Lie Here

(Intro- sung/spoken)

Sometimes when I first wake up, before I open my eyes

I have a little chat with myself

I glance at the alarm clock then slowly realize

I should get up-- or I could put this morning on the shelf

The guilt sets in as I-I ask my conscience for permission

I can’t seem to stop this pen-chant for self-admonition

This goes back and forth for minutes though it feels like hours

Should I get out of bed,

or remain in my head.  I really need to shower

Why wouldn’t I stay asleep when I could be dreaming of you?

Why wouldn’t I stay in bed when there’s so very much to do?

(Song)

Let me lie here__Quietly thinking of you

Let me lie here__With so much to do

My eyes have just opened__I’m still in my bed

But-I can’t still the mem’ries__Of you in my head

It’s time to get up__Get-this show on the road

But-I can’t move a muscle__My heart is too heavy--  a loaaaaaad.

Let me lie here__With you in my heart

Let me lie here__Knowing not where to start

My lists are all waiting__With hands on their hips

But I can think only__Of your tender lips

It’s time to get moving__I really will try

But I keep on replaying__The last time we said--  good-byyyye

(Instrumental)

(Bridge 1)

The morning has come__And you’re far away

I’m left to imagine__What you’ll do today

My day has begun __Yet I can’t move an inch

Without your arms wrapping me__ Up in a clinch

(Repeat first verse)

(Bridge 2)

Oh-oh-oh let me lie here__ with you in my heart

Wrapped up in blankets and yearning

Let me lie here__ so far apart

Alone in my bed but so crowded by burning… desires

Let me lie here__Quietly thinking of you… mm-mmmm

Drive-Thru

I keep writing new pieces then spend weeks revising them then send them off to publishing concerns which prohibits me from posting them here. And so you think I've died.

Well, close. But not quite. I wish I'd died, most days, but not the permanent kind, more of the Walt-Disney-cryogenic semi-permanent kind. I envision me and my son going to sleep and waking up a year from now in our wonderful, cozy home with pancake batter already mixed and fresh flowers on the breakfast nook table, all of our problems seamlessly worked out, a new rhythm to our life together, hope lingering in the air all around us like pixie dust. All I need to do is wipe the kiwi-sized sleepies out of my eyes, heat the griddle and put on some lovely, soothing, morning music. Sounds divine. Unrealistic to be sure, but heavenly.

Speaking of heaven and death. Did you know that there are drive-thru funeral parlors in the good 'ole USA? You follow the arrows, slowly driving around the building, like at a bank or Burger King, and stop at the podium next to your car door, on which lays the guest book and a pen. Just behind the podium there is a low, long rectangular window cut out of the funeral home's basement floor. There, behind the glass, lying in eternal grace, is your dear friend you were too lazy-assed to get out of the car for.

You glance at your friend, or maybe your mother, and decide what to write. Maybe you even turn down the radio or shush your kids in order to better organize your thoughts. You could just sign your name, but they'll know that this is the outdoor guest book on account of the dried rain drops and bird doo on its sun bleached pages, so perhaps a little note is in order. Something sentimental will do nicely.

"Dear Gertie,
Sorry about the piano. I was sure the smoking would kill ya.
Aren't you glad you didn't stop? Ha, ha! I'll miss you at canasta.
Love, Vickie"

or

"Dear Mom,
I'd get out of the car, but I've got the kids with me and whose going to watch them now that you're gone and besides, I knew you wouldn't want them to get caramel corn on your precious casket that could have paid for ballet/jazz and tap lessons, but OK, fine.
Sorry to see you go. I told you not to smoke.
Love ya, miss ya, Vick"

I could go on, but I won't.

Sometime I'll tell you about the place out west where you can have your loved one's ashes shot into space where they'll orbit Earth for 64 million years. Now that's death. Eternal life ain't got nuthin' on that.