Tin Foil

Late New Year's Eve, paper hat on your head,

it's hard to believe you'll ever be dead

But that dream where you're falling you've had

since you're five is a bird on your shoulder who whispers goodbye

Evil Knievel shot up from dead grass

I loved him better each time he crashed

Liza Minnelli spent a month in her bed certain

that Skylab would fall on her head

One night I dreamed that I dug my own grave

and climbed down inside to patiently wait

Down in the ground I breathed the warm air

and blackbirds flew down to nest in my hair.

What is moving will be still

What's been gathered will disperse

What's been built up will collapse

All your dreams fulfilled