When I am an old lady
I will live by the sea
in a condo
with a perfectly clean, white couch.
I'll have a bell man named Lars, and my drawers will be organized. My basement too.
All day, I'll sit on my white couch and read.
My walls will be white.
My windows, clean.
Martha Stewart will visit to drink tea with me out of small, China teacups.
But I won't let her talk.
We'll just stare out at the sea.
At the sailboats going by with my sons on board.
"Hi, Mom! We love you and we're perfect and handsome and saintly and successful."
I'll have Martha bring them sandwiches on a tray. But I won't let them in.
Cause this condo is mine.
The white couch is mine too.
So clean and quiet like fresh, starched sheets. So clean and quiet like the breeze kicking up my curtains. So clean and quiet like my bright, white couch where I'll sit and read.
When I am an old lady.