I want to live
in a movie trailer
for a French love story.
I am not smart,
never have been,
I will choke on your ice cream.
Whenever I have a good drunk,
I need a good drunk,
just to get over it.
Just ask my friend Everett,
hahaha,
while gates get locked.
California laughs at me, too,
and the Earth is still
spinning.
I hope my voicemail
made some sort of sense
the last hundred years.
All the varieties of instruments
is incredible,
such a diverse sounding misfire.
I want to live
in miles
of skyline.
Higher than a damned keyboard,
lower than your face,
somewhere where strangers say Ditto.
So what do we do?
Say sweet dreams to other queens,
and then what?