Take in all the plants, tie down anything that could fly
Tape up your windows by batteries and candles
Fill up your bathtub for dishes to wash
Make sure you have enough canned goods
Drinking water to last you a week or two
Until the storm has passed
Pull out that old Monopoly game
A deck of cards, your cribbage board
Bring in all the dry seasoned wood for the stove
Get up blankets, towels, sweaters, warm socks
Make sure you have enough cat food
A transistor radio
Let your family know you're ready
Check in all your neighbors, call your friends
Fill your tank with gasoline for a last resort exit plan
Get yourself to the safety of an interior room
Put a pillow over your head
Don't forget to bring your cell phone
Unplug your whole life
Slow down your pulse
Get as small as you can
And pray
Because this is the one they've been warning us about
When everything goes out
Darkness is declared
We will finally understand
I doubt, I think, therefore I am
When the singularness of lonely
Is as close as our own voice
We will be reminded of the point
Love, love, love
Love, love, love
Love, love, love
Love, love, love
Love, love, love
Love, love, love, love, love
Love, love, love, love
Love, love, love, love
Love, love, love, love, love
Love, love, love, love
Love, love, love, love, love