I scraped the fork on the plate It’s getting to the end of the date She’s playing around with the spoon She’s waiting to be under the full moon I’ve run out of things to say before nightfall She’s begging for an emergency phone call
It was quite the uncomfortable car ride I wish there was a seat cushion I could hide I turned on the radio just to mask the suffocation Because for this relationship was no resuscitation I’ve run out of things to say and hope for a crash And hope my body gets mashed into bone ash
The microphones are pointed in my direction I’m looking for the best possible deflection A question is asked over the whirl of the tapes The money man in front is eating all my grapes I’ve run out of things to say and check my notes In the back someone is robbing all their coats
The speaker of the house lost his staple At one time their word was like papal But now they’re sorting through the mess The haystacks are thrown on by the press They’ve run out of things to say and lost their gavel And is looking up a place where they can travel
The band is jamming instrumentally Because the singer stopped not accidentally No need to do any kind of sound check Because there’s really nothing wrong with the tech They’ve run out of things to say for the recording The whole process they aren’t finding rewarding
The writer puts up his feather quill He hopes for this there was no kill The page is blank and will remain unfilled And it’s not because in the art they’re unskilled They’ve run out of things to say and stories to tell They better get a suitcase and learn to sell
