-I'm not there-

you came home to a clean room
it seems all I can ever do is clean
when things are in disarray

and I sang my whispery hymns
of how the world is against me
while I folded my socks and shirts
and put them neatly into a black bag

I could have easily just thrown it all away
down an incinerator
where my hopes could burn--

they'd been doused in sweat so long
the kind of alcohol an anxious fat
merchant sweats when the peasants are knocking down
his door with torches and pitch forks

they want their money back
they want their youth and freedom;
no more of this tilling the soil for heaven's sake

you're right

my time has come
it's time you were right

or so I think my ex-girlfriend would want
so too you will want, or be;
the names change but the whole sob-story
still stays the same anyway

I thought to leave you a clean room,
pick up my things and hide them where
I'm going to hide myself

lost in a bottomless hole where you'll never find me
even if you follow

maybe you'll find wonderland,
maybe you'll kiss Alice and tell her, "hey

it's going to be alright,"
but soon you'll see I'm not there

and everything you own will finally fit
neatly into all those drawers, closets, and boxes.