couch surfing will break your back and theres not one night in ten lonely years that shes gone to sleep in her bed upstairs its piled high with clothes that no longer fit old christmas gifts with tags still affixed she sleeps on the couch and she dreams like a slave dreams of her mortgage its jaws clamped round her vertebrae shes hollow shes dying shes menopause ing away hey there good looking whats that microwave got cooking for you and me tonight cause it seems like you just might stick your salt and pepper head inside that you might scream that you might die just like sylvia die as a slave die a single mother a bleak divorcee dig under her affluence and this is what youll find five beds four baths three kids do the math just debt regret empty nest a broken back i was not worth throwing away all of your dreams