People are going off like fireworks in this neighborhood
Little bursts of energy, hissing and lighting up the sky
On Etna Street, the mom is mad at the dad
He's not very good at being one, and she's drinking beer
Two houses down, the Boston natives are in love
Embracing each other by dropping their R's
Talking about baseball, and the rain
My house buzzes with sleep
I know it's really just the sound of the dryer
The fans, the dishwasher, the humming of electricity
I used to hear voices in windshield wipers
Now I know you can turn just about anything into a song.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment