| I don’t have much time, none of us really do
|
| So I’m fucked if I’ll be spending it with you
|
| You’re making history my friend, that said
|
| Your histrionics drive me round the bend
|
| You have to take what the slipstream sends
|
| When your salad days have reached an end
|
| You’re changing my mind
|
| Come take me out where the wild things grow
|
| And teach me all that I ought to know
|
| You’re changing my mind
|
| Come fish me out of the idiot soup
|
| And all the fun of your other loops
|
| You’re changing my mind
|
| I wrote this letter to myself
|
| Well you know me, I like to help
|
| It justifies the harm we do
|
| Wrapped up in pretty songs for you
|
| I’m sorry that I woke you up
|
| But you’re trussed up here like Lilliput
|
| You know I had to join a queue
|
| Just to dry these jokes on you
|
| I kept you how I saw you last
|
| And you’re smiling in that photograph
|
| I know we buried «ought to do»
|
| But mother has more games for you
|
| The open door was just a test
|
| I’m glad you failed it like the best
|
| What passes for a view round here
|
| Has a curious taste of understeer
|
| Come fish me out of the idiot soup
|
| And all the fun of your other loops
|
| You’re changing my mind
|
| Yes, I could have called you more
|
| Well, okay I never called at all
|
| These parts of me so sharp and curved
|
| Have ways I cannot shape to words
|
| You shelter in their soft skin glow
|
| Drink in its warmth, then let it go
|
| The mine you need just isn’t here
|
| You sat and watched him disappear
|
| At times I would have bombed the past
|
| My cartoon worlds, they always cast
|
| You as punch-drunk, me as slow
|
| Both patsy to the undertow
|
| Oh let him go, he won’t get far
|
| He dribbles words, I drive the car
|
| It gets us where we need to be
|
| With disappointing frequency
|
| Are we still running, is this thing on?
|
| He’ll catch it when you’re sure the moment’s gone
|
| When you think we’re only chasing unicorns
|
| He’ll have it in the walk between two rooms
|
| Oh let him go, he won’t get far
|
| He dribbles words, I drive the car
|
| We drag him where he needs to be
|
| With disappointing frequency |