Carved out by the clouds in your guts In Jokerman font Season of witch Year of mickey mouse I cuddled up with a thought In the image of god The kind that you fuck But we just talked Last glance to feel at home Hopeless with quarters to lend Like sort of a friend Or probably should've been Margaret or something They laughed right into my mouth And silenced their phone That chance was sewn But I heard they're gone now Last glance to feel at home