The Long Face

There are police sirens in my head that sound like mad babies crying.
It’s the long face.
When my emotions rain the boss of the city is the cabdriver.
Running up to my face and into my arms.
Shared only some of it, give away most of it.
When I feel this way therefore I am.
It’s you, it’s me, walking down that street.
I wish I could see my own funeral to regret being dead.
Baby don’t leave.
I want the attention.