Racing clocks and stomping feet.

I am nothing if not a fool

racing clocks and stomping feet

Calling phony telephone numbers

and talking to myself

Hanging on imagination

pretending every second is a second closer 

to hand holding and cotton candy sharing

while living a life less exciting

until you are my new normal.

But what is normal

Is it not when things make sense

and then have no choice but to become dull

Is a normal day sunshiny and clear 

or is it the sort where the bus is late

and the clouds burst into rain and 

you can't get the last words your long lost love

said to you out of your head?

If the later is true than I am normal now

all but living in a fantasy

That I wish were more interesting 

because of you.