Murmur on Monday names turn to shoulder I left in the garden chair and the chair walked away I said the moon was a FUJIYAMA You laughed with a traffic cone grin Now the SAMURAI sings in balloons and the corners are peeling thin I live inside a misplaced voicemail a carton of almost-HARAKIRI Every sorry comes wearing slippers and leaves through the sink at GEISHA I don’t dreamI rerun the sauce-colored mistake I left in the garden chair and the chair walked away I feed the toaster three ただ呼び声を聞く for the long commute of そこにいるだけさ I set out a plate for nobody 聞こえてくるだろう and it applauds in red 咽び泣く よ よ よ…
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