Oh God / The Aftermath

I have a confession to make . . . I sold you to the state.
The CIA is infiltrating your house as we speak.

I caught a glimpse of the spy satellite as it passed over our heads.
Orbiting every 92 minutes, quietly collecting images for the city's records.

I saw the petrified faces of you and your family on the evening news. Helpless and full of sedatives, shattered in a sea of dialogue and flashbulbs.

I heard about your last words, and I can't say that I'm sorry.
You should've seen my face, I've been so bitter towards you.

Alex was there, as powerless as the rest of them.
(Why now, Alex? I'm less of a man as I depart.)

"Sign my name too, Love. Press hard, there are three copies."

Waiting Room / Flashbacks

We were sitting on a bus full of children.
I was drawing pictures of rocket ships.

I was climbing the powerlines outside your window.
There was a radio playing in the background.

Your father was a fat Southerner with blue overalls and a moustache.
Your mother was a black Georgia soul singer with friends who loved to cook.

I woke up in your house, your mother was whispering to me.
I could just make out your face through the crack in the doorway.