LYRIC FOR SALE

By Ph. Ness

The Pet Rock Has No Receipt
(Comedy / Absurdist Novelty / Tragicomic Pop)

Verse 1
The clerk asks why my Pet Rock needs a pool.
I say, “He gets dramatic when he’s cool.”
Blue dish, diving board, chlorine by the crate.
I bought a welcome mat and tiny gate.
She left him on the step and drove away.
I gave him my last name that very day.
Some people buy stocks. I insure him from hail.
His jet is balsa wood, with cardboard tail.
He never asks what happened to her key.
He never asks why there are plates for three.
Cold in my palm, he waits without a sound.
Best forty-seven cents I’ve ever found.

Chorus
I buy to drown the quiet —
my ridiculous riches climb the wall.
A diamond leash for something that won’t stray,
a doorbell for the one who went away.
I buy to drown the quiet.
The Pet Rock has no receipt.

Verse 2
Nine-hundred-dollar sneakers guard the rug.
Magnetic socks drag teaspoons like a drug.
Pink “Brosé” sweats beside two plastic cups.
One still has the price tag facing up.
My talking toaster purrs, “Good morning, queen,”
to empty cupboards polished hospital-clean.
I bought a pillow with a heartbeat beat.
The rock takes her old side and never sleeps.
I bought him shades. He cannot face the sun.
A treadmill too. He hasn’t used it once.
My ridiculous riches crowd the hall.
He owns the least and understands it all.

Chorus
I buy to drown the quiet —
my ridiculous riches climb the wall.
A diamond leash for something that won’t stray,
a doorbell for the one who went away.
I buy to drown the quiet.
The Pet Rock has no receipt.

Bridge
The toilet’s now a golf course — eighteen holes,
a sand trap by the flush, two putting poles.
Bigfoot briefs hang drying from the rod.
The mailman sees them, pauses, looks at God.
“Your rock wear those?”
“Investment clothes.”
I button up his little jacket slow.
At midnight, with my ridiculous riches stacked,
I find her coffee ring still near the back.
Every shining thing came boxed and priced.
Every stupid miracle cost twice.
I turn him over in my hand.
No barcode.
No return date.
No proof she bought him.
No proof she stayed.
The Pet Rock has no receipt.

Final Chorus
I bought to drown the quiet —
my ridiculous riches filled the wall.
A diamond leash for something that won’t stray,
a doorbell still expecting her someday.
I bought to drown the quiet.
The boxes reach the place her chair once stood.
The rock stays where her coffee ring still would.
The Pet Rock has no receipt.

Outro
The house still creaks where her chair used to sit.
Another package waits outside.
I leave it there.
The rock stays put.
No receipt.