Out of Tune

Folks, let your babies sing out of tune.

And don't think we're crazy

to howl at the moon.

For once in awhile

Mom's favorite child

strays from the rest

doing his best.

The night hands us over,

spent like loose change.

And quickly forgotten

a nightly mistake

whose lessons go on unlearned,

strangely assured

of our only worth

we're kicked to the curb.

When the night hands us over,

spent like loose change,

we wake up.

Wake up.

Folks, let your babies sing out of tune.

I don't think we're crazy, you know

you howled at the moon, too.

These days where we live

it's anything but an address

we're only doing our best.