The Ballad of the New York Times

It's a cousin of the song I wrote a year ago
First cousin, so they can't have babies

They sell Canadian grade A maple syrup in New Zealand
It's expensive but I splurge
So I can put it on our pancake breakfast and
Sometimes I forget to put the lid on and the ants come
Into the kitchen of this AirB&B we've been renting for six months for a fortune and
Sometimes I take a magazine and I escort them two by two
On a little glossy lifeboat into the garden and
Sometimes I just create an ant holocaust and kill them all
With a paper towel
(Fuck the ants!)

I don't understand which part of me is kind
I don't understand which part of me can be so goddamn unkind
I don't understand why I'm tired all the time
All I know is that last night I wanted to go to bed by five o'clock
And I took off my necklace
And I turned on the heater
And I Couldn't stop shaking
So I put on a sweater

And I read the New York Times
On an app in my phone next to my sleeping child
And the headlines hurt my mind
Five thousand dead, Cher got an (?)
And the light on his face
And his pearly-haired head
And I knew I should be reading a good book instead
I can't fit all of all humanity into this bed
With me

Yesterday I walked by a homeless man in Queen Street
I gave him twenty dollars and then went into a cafe and
Someone had sent a crowd-fund from their cousin in Milwaukee
And their seven month old baby died and they don't have any money
For a funeral for the baby so they started a Go-Fund-Me
And I fucking deleted the email
I didn't give them any money
And I didn't put it up on Twitter
Or shared it on Facebook
And later in the day I called my friend in Boston
She has a five year old boy too and I asked how they were doing
She said, "We're doing really great
We're just getting out of lockdown
And yesterday we finally left the house and went out walking and we
All went to the toy store" and I said, "Oh, that's amazing"
And she said, "Yeah, but you know, of course the kids had to wear masks"
And I was like, "Oh, you know, that's- that's fine" and she said
"Yeah, and also, like, the kids couldn't touch any of the toys
But anyway, enough about me, how are things going in New Zealand?"
And I said, "They're pretty good"

I don't understand which part of me is fine
I don't understand which part of me can be so goddamn un-fine
I don't understand why I'm so random all the time
All I know is that last night I had to go to bed by five o'clock
And I took off my necklace
And I turned on the heater
I couldn't stop shaking
So I put on a sweater

And I read the New York Times
On the app on my phone next to my sleeping child
And the headlines heart my mind
Ten thousand dead and how that dress looked hot on Harry Styles
And the light in his face
And his curly-haired head
I knew I should be reading a good book instead
I can't fit all of humanity into this bed
With me

And Emily's dad just died of Covid
And Neil's first editor just died of Covid
And Justine's mom just died of Covid
Michael got real sick but didn't die of Covid
And look, a lot of people are vaccinated
And look, a lot of people are lying on Facebook
And look, a lot of human's life getting wasted
And American swimming took gold at the Olympics

I don't understand why the world can be so fine
I don't understand how the world can be so fucking un-fine
I don't understand why I'm binge drinking all the time
All I know is the last time I had to go to bed by five o'clock
And I left all my clothes on
And I pulled up the covers
And I got Ash's dinner
And I let the dishes just sit there
And I brushed Ash's teeth and
We read Harry Potter
And I turned all the lights out
And I should have known better

But I read the New York Times
On the app on my phone in the pitch black room
And the headlines hurt my mind
Four million dead and billionaires are sending shit to the moon
And the light in his face
And his curtly-haired head
And I knew I should be reading a good book instead
I can't fit all of humanity into this bed
With me

Shh
Mama's trying to read
Mama's trying to read
Mama's trying to read