With a double-you he maintains
So thick a sense of pride, so wide
That he and I start to collide
And a word is all that remains.
“Whorrible”, because we sell our
Hearts and even our private (p)arts
Searching for a climb on the charts
When life suddenly can smell sour.
Escape, he tells me, is easy
To learn when the candle is burned
At each end and our love is spurned
But he makes me feel so sleazy.
I just want to find a way to
Turn his lead into something gold,
You know, something warmer to hold
And find a soul that won’t pay you
Just for your time or for your rhyme;
Or call you up and undress you
With his mind when that word ensues.
Let’s not let a kiss be a crime.