I must have been wrong when you called to say “I love you”
I haven’t a taste for the words anymore
I discovered the gears to this sex machine and it’s otherwise hollow.
Machines don’t mind though.
Had to ring in the new year like a boxing bell,
don’t swing low fancy footwork give ’em hell
My plan is to take him down in the final round,
some kind of finite wind up to a slow roasting beat,
sound of a thousand blows 365 days of the year
here I’ll be riffing, tipping, typing, writing away
the hoop that made flying high swoop
all the way over from cherry town,
made a real buck or two
can’t seem to catch a buck.
Buy me a scooter dave,
Buster bought me a schooner
moorin’ me out at sea, anchors away,
too deep to swim, too dark to see.
You’ll never know I gave up
sold my soul to the pentagon,
nothing goes on here but what theater’s on about,
every night and no one knows, I can’t sleep, but for reals-
I’m making my way out,
work til may, think I’ve got to stay out.
Won’t find my life worth a looking
when I ain’t have eyes that can see beyond face booking.
I love the moment when your X becomes ugly to you,
you’ve made it so far, you never have to think again,
unless you want,
of what you really lost and what you just thought.
Dirty as hell. Nice tits, ready for my life to start
looking more like the life I want.
And now for the 2015 and the final year of my 20’s
I realize a bucket list is in order,
perspective and drive, things I want realized.
Carry them around in a bucket a bit
you know, my dreams of getting out of bed,
carry on my wayward love
of every little thing to do
and lists I’d oft confuse
for some stuff I already’d did.