I want,

nothing more than a room, or two
with a few rugs on the floor and
a painting on the door, and
a microwave to heat up any kind of food we can find
i wouldn't mind

i can see,
an apartment on a street
with buissnessmen, beneath, walking
on their way to work through the wrong neighborhood
and a guitar begging to be fixed
under the window

and, of course, the most costly thing in the room
or rooms
is a record player in the corner, singing to you and i
and we can understand

the silence, filled with music, and the rain on the roof
where a law degree lies in a shattered frame
still remembering the words i shouted at it
"god, i will not be the same!
i will change, and be changed"

and now, only you and i, in a room with the sound and the rain
i see it, the future, now
and know we're not the same