Squirrel Song
Shellac
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This Is a Sad Fuckin' Song
We'll Be Lucky If I Don't Bust Out Crying
How Does It Feel?
Your Night Light, Your Curling Iron
Lit Up By the Sweat of Others,
For Many's the Day
But Not From November to May
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The Floor Is Littered
With Woodchips and Apple Cores
And Hulls (Holes?) of Acorns
There Is a Chattering Sound
Because They Were Squirrels; Real Squirrels.
(And There Were Thousands)
This Isn't Some Kind of Metaphor,
Goddamn, This Is Real