You can call me butter head,
sausage boy, or bowtie moo-cow,
But if you want to be my huckleberry,
You better call me soon.
Nights are the blindness of the lonely.My island uncharted without you,
No shipping lanes or ice-cream crates
Are in sight, just birds of doubt that
Circle endlessly and won’t give me a fish.
Lightning scars the face of my solitudes,The fleeting ghost glow shows no clue,
Of a rescue ship to free me, a vessel of hope
Streamlined with love and captained by you-
Please call me now and call me Boo.
Something moves determinedly around my camp,A minor chorus of rasping breath and tippy tap claws
Accompany this unwelcome guest’s sly parade.
It wants to spite me and then bite me, I know-
Still there’s no alarm to ring and banish my foe.
I feel a strange reverberation underneath…My phone - its set on vibrate and I’m getting a call!
What’s this? It says “unknown” on the display.
Cruel fate! Why can’t she call me now and call me Boo?
I’d rather be eaten by guilt than talk to a stranger!