We’re all dealt the bad hand When we’re lingering in love So I linger a bit longer On the smell of your perfume We’re all hypocritical When we use the word hypocrisy So I suppose it’s possible I’ve misjudged the novelty Of irony I left my mark under her chin Where the cotton meets the skin I left my last stamp of misguidance Confusion, pride, and romance Where the cotton meets the skin We’ve all been sent careening Down the blistered sun-scarred edge Of a certain empty gesture That is the memory of fleeting We’ve all been found to be lost Without a crying shame and Without a pocket to cry into Just singing the same damn song Of irony I left my mark under her chin Where the cotton meets the skin I left my stamp of indifference Slander, stupidity, and romance Where the cotton meets the skin And in a state of foreseeable disaster I can stammer my way to victory Stumble timidly like the man I’ve never been and never will be Curse my words under my breath Like the man I never was We’ll all be merely dancing When you’ll ask me “How is this fun?” And that’s when you’ll hear What I’m screaming at the sun We’ll laugh at what we did And mourn what was never done As we’ve graduated to children Trying to grasp the idea of love And irony I left my mark under her chin Where the cotton meets the skin I left my stamp of impotence Stability, fear, and romance Where the cotton meets the skin I left my stamp of silence Anxiety, anger, and romance Where the cotton meets the skin It is probably evident that, since I last wrote a song, I have been listening to a lot of Elvis Costello and Paul Simon. The influence, I imagine, is obvious.
as always, i love it. your writing portrays the very essence of humanity. much like costello. your good at this romantic shit, eliot, so WRITE MORE. youre gonna be famous one day, i swear it.
