could you call me when you get home? i want to tell you about my day, from the comfort of my own. i’m surrounded by gold walls, that glimmer like copper. i’m under a round table, set for one. i’m on a hand knotted rug, adorned with delicate patterns. i’m next to leafy greens, growing tall without water. i know it’s alot to ask, but could you call me when you get home? i want to hear about your day, from the comfort of my own. i imagine you have a fine rug, one that can hug your shoes. i imagine you in your linen suit, the soft one that says cool. i imagine you on a lazyboy, i assume you don’t have guests. i imagine you tugging the phone cord, in anticipation for my very breath. talk to me, talk to me, i’m willing to listen – if you could just call me when you get home? and if not tonight, then maybe tomorrow I believe you’ll call me when you get home.