Hello Pretty

Hello Pretty, won't you give me the time of day?
Hello Pretty, it is that time of day already?

I stayed up all night writing my own obituary
My brain is like a coal mine, won't you be my blue canary?
Little Pretty

I hope that people say nice things about me when I'm dead
Though by then I won't be around to hear the things that will be said
For now I suckle coffee and I write these words in bed

Some people say that misery's a choice you make yourself
Well, I knew I made my choice
When "Bona Drag" appeared upon my shelf
And when I get to Heaven, old Saint Pretty will be there
She'll book me on the dress code, send me back as plasterware

When I close my eyes I see you in my dream
You're chanting "meat is murder"
You have murder in your bloodstream
You can say that every day's like Sunday all you want
But Pretty, I can only hope that Monday will be like detente

Hello Pretty, won't you give me a key to change?
Hello Pretty, does it not befit your station
To make our own home seem just like a foreign nation?

You used to be my chief of staff, my main line confidant
But now I see confiding isn't very au courrant
Now I lock up my emotions and pretend I'm nonchalant

I hope that people say nice things about me when I go
I've half a mind to think you'll be the one to deal the killing blow
You'll be the Rufus Griswold to my Edgar Allan Poe

Pretty, I can feel the soil a-falling on my head
But you'll realize when every waking moment's full of dread
And you look upon my portrait on the mantle by the bed
There's no one that'll say a thing about you when you're dead