| There’s a bear inside your stomach, a cub’s been kicking from within. |
| He’s loud, though without vocal cords, we’ll put an end to him. |
| We’ll make all the right appointments no one ever has to know, |
| and then tomorrow I’ll turn twenty-one, we’ll script another show. |
| We’ll play charades up in the Chelsea, drink champagne, although you shouldn’t |
| be. |
| We’ll be blind and dumb until we fall asleep. |
| None of our friends will come, they dodge our calls, and they have for quite |
| awhile now. |
| It’s not a shock, you don’t seem to mind, and I just can’t see how. |
| «We're too old.» |
| «We're not old at all.» |
| «Just too old» |
| «We're not old at all.» |
| There’s a bear inside your stomach, a cub’s been kicking you for weeks |
| and if this isn’t all a dream, well then we’ll cut him from beneath. |
| Well we’re not scared of making caves, or finding food for him to eat. |
| We’re terrified of one another, terrified of what that means. |
| But we’ll make only quick decisions, and you’ll just keep me in the waiting |
| room, |
| and all the while I’ll know we’re fucked, and not getting un-fucked soon. |
| When we get home we’re bigger strangers than we’ve ever been before. |
| You sit in front of snowy television, suitcase on the floor. |
| «We're too old.» |
| «We're not old at all.» |
| «Just too old» |
| «We're not old at all.» |