You describe me like a plaque.
You put a face to charity,
and a lovely one at that.
No doubt my suit falls flat.
You're not to have or hold,
But I want you like Spaniards want gold.
You live too fast, too long;
You were busy; I got old.
The sinner's ached for months;
The saint makes two at once.
The both, they make me crazy;
Letting them makes me a dunce.
Why chase what others have?
The reasoning is mad.
The thing I seek will fade in weeks;
That future's ironclad
I don't need this, and what's more,
I know. I've done
this before.
It's a five-alarm hassle
When it isn't a bore.
Why can't I just say
I know you're bad for me,
A cholesterol in the hay?
Guess I want you anyway.
No comments:
Post a Comment