... . Another night of too much cough syrup. I'm awakened by the incessant ringing of a telephone. I still have dreams caked in the corners of my eyes, And my mouth is dry and tastes shitty. Again, the ringing. Slowly, I bustle out of bed, The remnants of an erection Still lingering in my shorts Like a bothersome guest. Again, the ringing. Carefully, I abscond to the bathroom, As to not display my manhood to others. There, I make the perfunctory morning faces Which always seem to preceed my daily contribution To the once-blue toilet water That I always enjoy making green. Again, the ringing. I shake twice like most others, And I'm annoyed by the dribble That always seems to remain, Causing a small acreage of wetness On the front of my briefs. I slowly, languidly, lazily, crazily Stumble into the den Where my father smokes his guitars ... . I mean, cigars... . In his easy chair. I know ALL about easy chairs. And then I sing a song for my friends : Jesus is my boyfriend ! Jesus is my boyfriend ! You can't have him, Because Jesus is my boyfriend ! Ringing, ringing, dang it ! Goddamn, mother fuckin' son of a bitchin' ringing ! I walk into the kitchen and I stare blankly At that shreiking plastic bastard. Since it keeps ringing, I know it's her. And since it keeps ringing, she knows it's me. We are the world. We are the children. We are the ones who make a darker day, So lets start killing. There's a choice you're making, We're sparing our own lives. It's true we make a darker day, Just you and me.