Ginger Ails

Backyard, Ginger ails
She's too pale
Has been hiding both her legs
Since that time she tried with oil paint
And every sigh for her is a ghost at the most
Her father shouts, "Come in
Your mother says you're in a state"

But she said, "It's a lie
It's just raining real hard
These past few days
And anyways, I'll die
If I miss these rays
Its nice and warm out here"

Beach towel, folding chair
She's out there
And she won't get up
She has dreamt of being cold
Since six years old
And it seems like the rain, she won't let up

Heavy hearts in her mom and dad
It's too bad
She threw all the old good umbrellas away, away
And now she's plastered to that goddamn chair
Glowing hair
And legs crossed, all bruised with paint

And she said, "They're mine"
Ginger holds her own
She fondly displays the design
To parallel what those artists couldn't say
Couldn't bring themselves to say

Beach towel, folding chair
She's still there
And she shows no sign of getting up
What she doesn't know is
She's been cold since we don't know how old
But the bastard won't get out