The swinging glance, the dancing jest
I could live in this moment
At least when the sugar rain sells your story, there will be someone here to buy it
You’re all suede leather and synergy meetings
Wearing a haircut to match your tattoos and smoking cigarettes that smell like hard candy
Old, fat, hairy men have got what you want: A uniform, a delivery system for their spite
Now you breathe out the corner of your mouth and expect me to lay it on thick
I wasn’t born here, I won’t die here
You’ve heard better
Stalin and his marching hordes come barreling out of your mouth, terrible shit
You could count all your sweet words on your thumbs and still have room for ‘goodbye’
If you left now you could get one more drink
Just leave your peppered eggs to congeal into a nursery rhyme and I’ll cover the tip
But necessity demands you finish the meal
The weed’s gotten you sick and you’re thin enough for me to grip with one hand
Like the furtive search for a rosary
Inside that empty place, they’ll make you sit, ask you why you’re shaking, say “God bless you.”
If that weren’t bad enough, the sex only gets harder from here
Maybe if I smoked
Maybe if I spoke bigger dreams than the ones I live
But pretty girls come and go
And I can already feel the nicotine seeping out
Last night was a fluke