The Countdown

Three fifty eight

Walking home I could almost smell you

Six Fifty Nine

And home is just where I placed you

For sake of my own vanity

In place of numbers adding me

Down



And I'm sure no one would ever know

How many exeptions I have thrown

Down



Thomas Jefferson's hair is shining bright

Approaching noon a five cent piece

He'll disappear by the end of night

and I hope my palms don't tell my feet



Twelve Thirty Three

Another angle to describe you

One twenty Five

Writing now just to spite you

More letters to the editor

Don't forget to credit her

Now



Digital words defend my game

Secretly you can count your fame

Now



One Two Three More

Five Six Seven Late



Independence Day what is free is dead

Tuckahoe man on fire's tail

Both of horns white and feet of lead

Numbers to parallel to bail