I’m gonna be sick./
He is so slick, throwing out/
sweet words* like St. Nick.
OR
*flirts
I’m gonna be sick./
He is so slick, throwing out/
sweet words* like St. Nick.
OR
*flirts
There must be reasons*/
for silence. For ignoring.
But I don’t know them.
OR
There are good reasons*/
for silence. For ignoring.
But I don’t know them.
(Sung to the tune of “Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer”)
Well I’ve known brunettes
and redheads, accountants and funny ones.
Short ones and tall ones
and ones with hair bleached by the sun.
But do I recall
the greatest lover of all?
Not yet.
Hearing her cry at/
the end turned it into a/
horrific event.
Dan! I live in my/
old lover’s state now, and it’s/
snowing Christmas Eve.
The thumbnail moon was/
giving me a big thumbs down/
sign but … It’s Christmas!
I always wondered/
how it felt to be a Muse./
Now I know. Awesome!
Does she recall, at/
all, laying in bed, folded,/
hearing the rain fall?
She shakes her head, and/
like sunlight reflected/
off waves, I’m blinded.