I found out today the date when I would die.
It made me start to think and start to cry,
But it leads around to what I’m trying to get at
I found out today while I thought and I sat.
And looked through my calendar, rifling through the months,
The tomes of years and years it possessed
And I shed them off, looked through my future
And the calendar slowly confessed
That I would die when an amount had fallen off,
That I would die when the papers fell soft.
So after I’d found out the date I’d expire
My mind wondered at all the stuff I’d retire
And how much other stuff I’d go through
How much I would don’t and then do.
How many beaches I’d put my toes in.
How much more would I get to sin?
I thought of the kids I’d begot
I thought of the people I’d fought.
I thought of the present now (it comes with the past)
It just goes in a circle, so slow and so fast
I wanted to see all the pizza I’d eaten,
I’d wonder how much of that stuff I had beaten
Piles of pizza piled up to the moon
And I’ll add to the pile pretty darn soon
I wondered how much Dew I’d drank from the Mountain
How much of that stuff I’d sucked from the fountain
How much toothpaste? how many hours dead each night?
How many birds have I watched take their flight?
How many oceans of birds chasing birds?
How many times did I call you all nerds?
How many buffalos? herds upon herds?
How many words my good lord?
How many words upon words upon words?
I typed and I’ve typed, now my keyboard’s worn out.
Trying to figure out what this life’s all about.
I’d like to see all that shit that I started typing and could and couldn’t stop.
Will I keep on running with that until the inevitable day that I drop?
Was everything as much as the words that I type?
Are my stories untold? Untaught? Or unripe?
How many other pointless sounds? Vibrations that I’ve made.
Those words don’t disappear and dissipate I’m afraid.
Those things I’ve said, those wretched voices that came from inside me
They traveled over other countries, through lips and ears and over the sea.
Words from my conscience, separate ones, a thousand or more
Piling up from my tongue, across all the world, onto an alien shore.
They still are in the universe, ‘cause energy won’t die
Attempt to kill to it all you want; I’d love to watch you try.
I want to watch all the tattoos on me wither up into space
I’d like to watch them when I’m dead, while dust takes their place
I’d like to witness all the lives that I’ll create
Grow up, and throw their hands, try to abate
Their unstable minds, and words unkind
From coming forth, (again) forbear!
Lest ill-made knights that I’ll produce, and misanthropes despair…
I’d like to see all the cut off stuff, for example, all my hair.
I want to see the jars of toenails I cut off in this existence.
I’d like to see how much skin shed off, with little if any resistance.
I want it all stacked in piles in front of a history museum
I want people to understand the volumes; I want people simply to SEE ‘em.
I’d like to see all the doors I went through, and with each one I want all the keys
(Oh I forgot, I’d also like to relive every orgasmic showering sneeze)
I want to see how much good I created by doing everything I did.
I want to see the evil I made by inadvertently being a kid.
I want to see all the good I didn’t do too, from my birth until my twilight
I’d be seeing it all for a very long while, because that good is infinite, right?
I want to see the endless lakes of water that I went through as I lived on top of this planet
I want to see all the races I ran, the ones that I lost, and how slowly I fuckin’ ran it.
It might be a joke, but I almost forgot that I’d also like all of the laughter
And I’d like to see all the faces’ dark looks, that’s surely to follow thereafter
But mostly I want to see all the pain that I’ve cause (which relatively isn’t much at all)
Or it’s a shit load, more than I can bear (I guess that’s the witnesses call).
Let me gather the tears, somehow and some way, gather it up in big buckets
And I’ll get my wish, get to see what I’ve done, if only this thing we call luck hits
Show me the buckets of salty old tears, offered up by the worlds’ poor folks
Shed out of their eyes, by my words, and my lust, by my actions, and all of my jokes
So bring on the buckets of tears, bring ‘em in: to see them would be divine
I’ll gather the worlds’, look at them all, and somehow compare them to mine…