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Sore Subject
P.S. Eliot
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Like a helpless captive, a distraught midwife
Like a Libran husband and a Capricorn wife
I turn to wine and whiskey and these cryptic songs
Maybe I'm passive aggressive or maybe I'm wrong
ย
But don't go yet, old lipstick, old cassettes
Clutter the carpet where my futile head rests
And I'd explain it, but I've long-since dismissed
The thought of vitality, you'll get nothing out of me
But don't go yet
ย
And like a sore subject, objective pursuit
Like a fearful me or an asinine you
And we avoid eye contact as I'm just dragged along
Maybe I should just grow up or maybe I'm wrong
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe I'm wrong
ย
But don't go yet, old lipstick, old cassettes
Clutter the carpet where my futile head rests
And I'd explain it, but I've long-since dismissed
The thought of vitality, you'll get nothing out of me
But don't go yet
ย
As soon as my eyes avert, more skin of alabaster
You don't warn me before, you just devastate me after
And like a dangling noose or like an endless sea
We both know how to love and I think you owe more to me
I think you owe more to me
ย
But don't go yet, old lipstick, old cassettes
Clutter the carpet where my futile head rests
And I'd explain it, but I've long-since dismissed
The thought of vitality, you'll get nothing out of me
But don't go yet
ย