(inspired by Twenty One Pilots - At The Risk Of Feeling Dumb)
You Were Making Hay
from where the Sun doesn’t shine,
bruising the peach for another whine,
ejecting the seeds to ignore the core,
scratching the surface, nails on the floor.
Splinters are guests where the pain hurts best,
you’re always smiling as you’re holding your breath,
the safety match burns where skin doesn’t stretch,
the sleeves are long so nothing is stressed.
Curl up, curl up, the baby’s inside,
curl up, curl up, another day died,
curl up, curl up, don’t have to decide,
curl up, curl up, you’re Jekyll & Hyde.
The phone’s on mute even though you could talk,
the door’s on the lock and the bottle’s uncorked,
blinds are drawn with the lines of scorn,
a
cushion to cuddle - your intimate friend.
Grinding your teeth on a carpenters saw,
Jesus!
You’re measuring degrees of the law,
fixation is never a chore,
where ignorance in friends is what you applaud.
Curl up, curl up, there’s a knock on the door,
curl up curl up, there’s a friend who’ll explore
curl up, curl up, what you want is no more
curl up, curl up, where you can not restore.
And you thought I couldn’t see,
and you thought I’d let you be,
and you think you’d never dream,
and you think you’d always scream.
I’m still here where time doesn’t matter,
I’m still here,
still here.