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.