I wasn't willing
to fight on the floor,
throwing the chairs
through the door.
And I wasn't willing
to fight on the floor;
something to say to the poor.
The storms in July
took off the trees,
took off the plays-to-be.
The animals died
once in a while,
once in a while.

And I wasn't willing
to make up the bed,
folding the sheets
to your head.
And I wasn't willing
to say it again;
waiting for things to begin.
The storms in July
took off the trees;
took off the the plays-to-be.
The animals died
once in a while,
once in a while.