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letra de waiting for delmore - algebra suicide

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[verse]
it’s like brushing your t–th in public
or being kissed in a dream by a stranger in white shoes
i get so confused
delmore’s no longer in the shower
no longer in stated milk
no longer making a fuss

telephone calls come
asking if he is home
they hang up before i can answer
i get so melancholy when i think of his good points
how he knew what each piece of silverware was for
how he could light a match using only one hand
his talent on grinding his t–th in his sleep
clacking out a calypso rhythm that would send me tapping into thе living room

oh delmore, delmorе your comic books still come in the mail
the oatmeal i make for you each morning turns green well before noon
the shoebox whimpers when it recalls your feet
and i miss you (miss you, miss you, miss you)

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