I was sitting on my hands at the top-deck of the 178, spitting cusses at my face reflected in the windscreen pane. Throwing insults and calling names. Filthy SMSs that you sent through the day, by sundown become tame, so I set it in motion again.
But fates a cruel mistress, girl, the prettiest in the world. She dresses loosely in a bathrobe with her hair up in curls, 'cause we were kissing for hours with her hands in my trousers, she could not contain herself, suggests we go back to her house. But here it comes, this is the crux, she vomits down my rental tux.
I'm not sure if it's love anymore, but I've been thinking of you fondly for sure. Remember what your heart is for.
By your hand is the only end I foresee,
I have been dreaming you've been dreaming about me
And it's a good night
For a fist fight
Because the dew will temper your fall
You'll sing me lullabies in form of your cat-calls
And I've been dangling in limbo, barely keeping my cool. It's like I'm snookered 'tween the back cushion and touching the 8 ball. I keep replaying my turn, until your patience is shot, you peel your white gloves off seductively before you respot. Your fingertips leave marks and graze, I lay you down atop the baize: I'm not sure if it's love anymore, but I've been thinking of you fondly for sure. Remember what your heart is for.
Graceful, gracious companion with your eyes of doe and thighs of stallion