I’ve been boring lately,
been a bit of a yawn.
Don’t go out,
don’t talk about anything new.
So up and out of the blue,
I text you,
saying, oh what, what do you do,
when you’re broke and tired too?
You get that look, I assume, of one about to throw some clout.
“Well, Stephen, you’re going about this entirely the wrong route;
It’s no so much that you need to go out,
as it is that you need to stop that endless spout,
and for once, listen.”
Listen,
Breathe,
We flirt, at least I think we do, forgive me if we don’t, and I offer, you turn it down, and it’s a disappointment, but no more than learning the video-store doesn’t have the release I was hoping for, but they’ve always got that old familiar VHS of Idle Hands. Sure, disappointing, but at the end of the day, I’m still watching a movie, and it certainly isn’t the video-store’s fault, or anyone who works there.
The, uh, the analogy got away from me.
My point is. I want sex; you don’t. Connected, but separate. Yeah, disappointed, maybe even frustrated, but neither emotion is at you. Not your fault.
Not your fault.
And now the bass, or the base, or the baste is gonna
And with that metric shift,
who knows which is this?
You, you confuse me,
and I, I do not know you.
Don’t know if that should or will change.
