The moon was unbearably high.
Flowering plant that hung from the radiator pipe.
It was dripping sweat from its rapidly fading petals.
And to the humming world in which I was living,
A crescendoing stepping sound came in.
Heard you stepping over three weeks' worth of newspapers
Piled up outside the door.
I hear you knocking.
Come in.
Turn on the radio.
Turn up the volume.
You sat down in the same place where you used to sit.
It brought back a memory or two.
I may not know much any more, but I remember you.
You were quiet for a while, and that was nice.
Then you came along with your questions,
Always questions.
I don't have any answers to those particular questions.
I hear you talking.
Shut up!
Turn on the radio.
Turn up the volume.
Writer(s): John S Darnielle
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