It's the sound of all these closing doors
And the lack of initiative
That makes me feel like there is so much expected of me
It's the harlots, not the whores
The ones who see the derivative
That know and steal my see-through glee
It's standing on a pavement
You rubbing my arms to make me warm
When I see what you are
It makes me so angry
That I can care for something this disgusting.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment