In the air

Mama

I’m broke again

Could you send me a buck or two?

How about 50?

Yeah?

Okay, send it along.

Yes ma, I know

I know you’ve told me

That your fingers are crackling

At school

And your third job is laying off.

Mama,

You there?

Stop crying.

I gotta live,

I’ve got a girlfriend now,

Some dreams,

A job I hate.

I hate it so much

It makes my liver burn every night.

Don’t worry, I don’t mind the burn, ma.

Mama,

You there?

Why don’t you return my calls more often?

I felt a breeze the other day

And I just knew I had to leave

Had to glide on it.

I’ve got to cut through mom,

To foreign lands.

Don’t you realize?

Stop crying.

I got a good deal on a cargo ship,

My friends are all in Berlin,

I gotta go.

Why are you whispering?

What’s that sound?

Your boss should let you speak;

I’m your son.

I’m a man.

You’re a woman, mama.

Mama,

They treat you like cake,

And treat you to cake sometimes,

So they can treat you like cake always

Eating you up.

I know, I know,

You hate to hear that talk.

You should meet my girl, mama.

She doesn’t like the burn,

But I give it to her,

And it slides down her throat,

And sometimes when the fire is lit

she wants to glide too.

Didn’t you glide once?

Mama?

Stop crying.

Mama,

I read once,

“Let’s go, come on  let’s go,

Empty our pockets and disappear,

Missing all our appointments

And turning up unshaven years later.”

Did you read that too?

Are you there?

Have you dissolved?

Stop crying,

Come on let’s go,

Ma.

I need cash tonight.