quinta-feira, 27 de novembro de 2025

prickling at the Told You So's

toss it in the trash babydoll

You ain't worth the burning of the cane, can or to add injury

to the bluest moon, to insult Cain and sibling alike

no-no-no and not a token remark farther to rip prickles at my soul

It takes but it never gives; 

retrosprective dillema, eyes wide open under the mistletoe

Well I be dammed if you aren't a deer in front of an incoming train

It don't pay to lie to the Devil or oneself,

and considering I am not in the business of fooling either way

I won't be torn apart nor prickled at at whims, satire nor jumping to order or instructions

Catching strays like I can't restrain nor reframe thought to process

Tapping my feet yet I don't feel like dancing

the wrong side of sympathy when it reflects a road so-oh-so heartless

to make concessions when they take offense and make objections?

if I am loneliest when you are near, yawn tapped forcefully 

I hear a tear, a disconnect grown cold far along the crossroad

the true ridicule is to keep poor entertainment when I have long learnt

where I feel happier in better company

alone in a room.

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