When you got there, did a one-eyed ferryman give you a tour?
Did he call it the River Styx? Do you breathe air?
I guess that's what keeps it warm. Do they stick you with needles
and make you do tricks?
Me, they just gently cuffed me,
gave me Thorazine and drove me away
in an unmarked car, for my own
protection they said. I pretended
it was a limousine, and the hospital lights
and pity confections were Hollywood
in my head.
But you, when you got there, did you see
anybody we know? Can you see anybody's
face at all? Are you alone in a cell and
pecked at by crows? Do you get
passes on Sunday to purgatory? Do they
make you watch one-woman shows off
Broadway? Is Andrew Jackson there?
Is my uncle Mike?
Do you get treated fair? Did anybody at
the gates feel sorry when they told you
what the routine was like?
Me, I just lost an ear to a wrestler named
Beulah Storm, because I said women are
ladies; you don't say that anymore, or
they make you confess to NPR how sorry
you are and beg them not to take you to
Hades.
Have you met Hitler yet? Do they string you
up for a demon dogs' dinner? I feel stupid
asking, but did you forget? Do you ever
think of me? We were both sinners, remember?
I think about you all the time, and how I
wish you were free. Everybody asks me
how you are, and I lie and say you're on
Cloud Nine. I tell them you were rewarded
for protesting the war with Edwin Starr
and you're playing a harp and feeling fine.
Before they take you to netherworld N.A.
I just want you to know I tried. The doctors
in Hollywood in my head remind me how
I told you not to go away. I'll always wish
we were together like before, on gurneys
side by side, though they say you're not
worth it anymore. Maybe I'll recognize you,
you'll say something strange and slightly off
and I'll be able to tell. Maybe you'll hear
my nasty hacking cough and remember me,
if you ever leave hell.
Did he call it the River Styx? Do you breathe air?
I guess that's what keeps it warm. Do they stick you with needles
and make you do tricks?
Me, they just gently cuffed me,
gave me Thorazine and drove me away
in an unmarked car, for my own
protection they said. I pretended
it was a limousine, and the hospital lights
and pity confections were Hollywood
in my head.
But you, when you got there, did you see
anybody we know? Can you see anybody's
face at all? Are you alone in a cell and
pecked at by crows? Do you get
passes on Sunday to purgatory? Do they
make you watch one-woman shows off
Broadway? Is Andrew Jackson there?
Is my uncle Mike?
Do you get treated fair? Did anybody at
the gates feel sorry when they told you
what the routine was like?
Me, I just lost an ear to a wrestler named
Beulah Storm, because I said women are
ladies; you don't say that anymore, or
they make you confess to NPR how sorry
you are and beg them not to take you to
Hades.
Have you met Hitler yet? Do they string you
up for a demon dogs' dinner? I feel stupid
asking, but did you forget? Do you ever
think of me? We were both sinners, remember?
I think about you all the time, and how I
wish you were free. Everybody asks me
how you are, and I lie and say you're on
Cloud Nine. I tell them you were rewarded
for protesting the war with Edwin Starr
and you're playing a harp and feeling fine.
Before they take you to netherworld N.A.
I just want you to know I tried. The doctors
in Hollywood in my head remind me how
I told you not to go away. I'll always wish
we were together like before, on gurneys
side by side, though they say you're not
worth it anymore. Maybe I'll recognize you,
you'll say something strange and slightly off
and I'll be able to tell. Maybe you'll hear
my nasty hacking cough and remember me,
if you ever leave hell.
