I washed my green pair of pants
with my shit in the pockets 

I ruined my wallet.
I murdered my phone, 

And a book of ideas
for the things I was writing

were strangled and drowned
in the soapy cyclone

A black ballpoint pen
with the plastic exploded

The permanent ink
ran all over and dried

Jet black proof I was stupid
all down my right leg, 

and I layed down the corpse
of my pants and I sighed

 

My green pair of pants got washed

and the shit in my pockets got wrecked

Now it’s a stained wrinkled pile

What I washed became more of a mess

What I washed became more of a mess

 

My cell phone was cracked
like a bitter man’s joke

I pressed what was left of the buttons
and the circuits inside

Made a sound like a microwave
chock full of hammers

And I watched as it clambered
to live and then die

And my black leather wallet
turned brown in the bleach

Damn! My twenty-three dollars

more worthless than none

In a green deranged wad
were my warped founding fathers

It seemed they were frowning
because I was their son

 

My green pair of pants got washed

and the shit in my pockets got wrecked

Now it’s a stained wrinkled pile

What I washed became more of a mess

 

And my photo ID
was completely scrubbed free

of my face, and age and my name

So now no one could see
I was actually me

All they see is that I am to blame

 

I guess that’s a little bit melodramatic

A book, and a phone, an ID, and some cash

Aren’t hardly enough
to feel stressed and in absence

If they must be destroyed
and then thrown in the trash

 

So then why’s my heart blue,
and my head in a haze

Every ounce of this setback
the end of my days

In this terrible wake,
and this dismal position

The parable states, if it’s bearable listen:

 

Don’t wash your green pair of pants

Lest you think that you can’t be depressed

Don’t wash your green pair of pants

What you wash becomes more of a mess

What you wash becomes more of a mess

What you wash becomes more of a mess