I had plenty enough of this lost junk at ten,
keeping still while your own building collapses,
to hear it against practically every sentence,
yet heed nothing as though I’ll believe your lies.
Thinking about what must be covered today,
and that girl’s pack of filth outside sure ain’t it,
of course you’re in our way dragging it all home,
this has to be heard first before we get broken.
Five months ago we started to dance again,
which suddenly ended until this last week,
except it ain’t concerning us for any surprise,
we’ve both met novel finds worthy of revenge.
Can’t stand to listen or devote more time to,
glasses shattered across your revolutionized bars,
with their lonely service promptly canceled also,
failing to dare a glance back as you try elsewhere.
Sorry for the you we haven’t the strength to know,
tracking busy flower pots atop higher street ledges,
interrupted only when an admirer breaks our fall,
catching that poison apple to balance on your nose.
Already enjoy the talk and definitely love this walk,
night melts prior to our blessings of the morning,
simply to remember why there wasn’t one chance,
winning our ultimate trophy stolen from a thrift shop.
Sharwrong's Song 