Dry By Morning

The old man wet the bed
when he was 25.
It wasnt what I wanted to happen
and it didnt dry by morning.
Like tears, it never does.
And the man pisses the bed... 
Every glass of water I drink
is another flow of life in my viens,
and for him... a flow of disillusion
into the basement of the mattress.
Why bother to be alive at all
if you're an old man at 25?
If you're almost 26.
If you're dead?

Why bother to flow 
if you aint flowing anywhere
but into your own sheets
Laying in your own wastes
is a harder way to live
than to fly above the world with the clouds.
But then, maybe, baby,
you werent looking for the clouds.
Maybe you werent looking at all.
Drunk old man wets the bed,
I dont look.
He aint my old man.