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