Real Money

On the day you grew bored with your butterfly collection
You mowed the lawn in a long slow spiral
Knocking down the wildflowers, the tall grass gone to seed
You felt so powerful
Like you were turning over a new leaf
Watching the grasshoppers jump before the blade
And cabbage moths flutter confused and lost
In the swath you made
You've been running in small circles so long
You know your way around and around

The boys are starting to make real money, yeah
That isn't something that you'll find for free

You go down to the cafe where the college girls collect after classes
Drinking white wine mixed with something on ice in tall glasses
They are not all wise or all of them pretty
And there is no one among them who could make you happy
But you're drawn to motion and to things in sets
You can't take our eyes off them clustered at the tables
And you wish that you could be the one to see them
Catalogued and labeled
The waitress in her uniform is rubbing you wrong
Pronounce your final consonants and close your diphthongs

The boys are starting to make real money, yeah
That isn't something that you'll find for free

On the day you grew so bored that you just couldn't stand it anymore
You went looking for something but came home empty handed
To your moth eaten lawn and one wildflower
You must have missed with your power mower
And flying through the air like an answer to your prayer
Like a ghost or an angel, it's a miracle, it's a butterfly
You roar out the door and knock her from the sky
So you've got one more pair of crumpled wings to display
But what you're longing for got away

The boys are starting to make real money, yeah
That isn't something that you'll find for free
The boys are starting to make real money, yeah
What does that get you if you can't get free?
The boys are starting to make real money, yeah
That isn't something that you'll find for free

©1995 Annie Gallup