i want to sing out of tune,
become undone, fly a giant
marshmallow to the moon;
i want to jump on a sponge
three miles long and a mile wide.
i want to speak in bubbles,
just to pop all the words i wish
i hadn't said.
because i'm allergic to the sound
of wind-chimes, sea-food, and the
coasts of france.
i'm dying to become someone, but i don't
think i have a chance.
so i will throw my beer caps away,
i'll light the warehouse all ablaze.
and maybe i could lay down in the grass,
maybe i could sleep beneath
the constellations, dream about
Achilles' heels, take a breath
and breathe out sunflowers.
oh, it could happen,
one of these days.
i could be sitting at the bus stop,
and suddenly a millionaire
could be tripping, and i could catch him,
charm him, maybe. who knows?
and then i'd have sixty million pennies,
lined up in my saving's account.
and i could buy a beach house
on the coast of maine, i could
live to breathe a hundred years.
maybe i could be someone,
maybe i could.
after all, fate is just coincidence
that no one can figure out.