Postcard

You wrote me a sentence
It said, E.T. come home
On the back of a postcard
With a drawing of a telephone
And I'm only three blocks from the beach
But I never leave my apartment except to eat
And score drugs on Del Playa Street
I wish I'd known
I should have come home

Now Christmas is here and the streets flood with rain
Frat boys waterski behind cars again
And it seems I've caught fever so I self-medicate
Mix a few things together and it all goes away
I wish I'd known
I should have come home
But I never will

Why'd you ask me to stay
Like you cared anyway
I was dead to you
Dead on Del Playa Street

You wrote me a sentence
It said, E.T. come home
On the back of a postcard
With a drawing of a telephone
And I'm only three blocks from the beach
But I never leave my apartment
It's a relief
There are standards I won't ever meet
I wish I'd known
About the disease in your bones
I should have come home