In Anticipation of Your Suicide

Your heart is always almost beating

Along with windy frozen tunes

But you say you've laughed enough

Your closet's stuffed with last year's blues

But you know by summertime your suicide's just last year's news

What will we find inside of your room?

Notes in the margins

Records always spinning

Clues you know you want all to know

Your little soul grew old too soon

And surprises lost their thrill

Vodka and pills and the 'marquee moon'