Tuesday, November 19, 2019

The Little Death

Sit down and set your lust at ease and tip a glass as full as these
And spill it down your bonny sleeves and bring ‘em all down to their knees
And take ‘em on and take ‘em home and call ‘em on the telephone
And blow ‘em little kisses on their lips like tossing dogs a bone
They cannot see you smiling there, the pretty bow up in your hair
The voice so dashing, debonair. Calling, calling don’t know where
The people stand with little care and cast bad lots on but a dare
Throw money on the slowest mare while you sit pretty in your chair

The ferry runs on but a dime, man better run there’s little time
The boatman wears a waistcoat fine, they’re standing in the ticket line
And speak the work you got inside, the one you take your care to hide
The wave that marks the crashing tide and poisons you like cyanide
And find the things you’ve thrown away and find the price you have to pay
To spend a single, bitter day and speak the word you’d never say
Distinctions of your bitter clade, the psycho-logic cannonade
The thoughts that tend to connotate the cannibal on which you ate.

So get on up and take me there, you’ll do my dear, you’ll do I swear
You’ll sew up my soul’s little tear, I’ll see you standing everywhere.
I’ve got a burden that I bear but I think you can help, my dear
I may seem odd but don’t be scared I’ll use my kiss and wipe your tear
And when I’m done you will not cry no more you’ll spread your wings and fly
You’ll purse your lips and kiss the sky you’ll let go of your compromise
You’ll look well past the callous lie that said you can’t be satisfied
You’ll look into my blue-green eyes and then the little death you’ll die.

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