Saturday Looks Good To Me Drink My Blood
You will drink my blood
And you’ll wish you hadn’t
You will break your bones
All your little bones
In the gulf of Florida where your mom was born
And the baby’s crying all of the time
You will write me letter after letter
About the dull Novembers and January February March
Decembers that come afterwards
But I won’t even open up the motherfuckers
I could give a f..ck about what the ink is dribbling
And all the ways that you are still remembering.
