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| Leaving me: A complication in three verses |
| I look across the room to see you, brushing your cinnamon coloured hair. Your eyes catch mine, and you look at the ground. Because you've got me chained to my chair, with constuction paper shackles. I can't accept, our passive living. You can't maintain, your aggressive stance. So if God was a cheesecake would you indulge? Or would you prefer an apple pie? You better get rid of your Fender Strat. You better get a ride with a friend. And darling, if you want to escape the inferno, You had better hope it's real cold down home. |
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