Suicide Doors

I had the doors off the Wrangler earlier.
In the dawn sunrise
I drove by the beach.
Real ocean set on fire by the rising sun.
Same sun you see rise.
I let the wind rip through my hair
And the sun burn, burn, burn it.
It was really your fingers.

Alone is not safe when you've got
Thinking time and things to think about.
But if the music is good
And there's gas in the tank,
I'll yodel loud enough to kill everyone's thoughts.
If their lucky, it'll even be somewhat rhythmically.

I love my five-dollar aviator sunglasses.
I like them even more when you take them off
And kiss my eyelids.
I flutter
At your words.
Cool-hearted, bastard words-
It's even worse when you don't have any.

I think I've taken for granted
Living seven minutes from the Atlantic.
I don't really like the beach in the summer.
I don't really like people.
November coast, lovely ghosts, leather coats.
Mmm. Crisp as fog.
Lonely as heaven.

I thought about jumping off the rocky ledge
In the Jeep.
Taking all the gasoline and stereo with me
That's the way I'm going to go.
No bullets, no chemo, no handcuffs, nor tears.
No words.
Sober.

We'll go a-rolling into hell
Via Poseidon,
Passion would've already set us ablaze.
We'll go a-singing and huffing gas
And smiling
And holding hands.
Alone.