| Percy Pursewarden
|
| Open up your door
|
| I haven’t come to break your cadence
|
| Or mix your metaphor
|
| And if I swore I was no critic would you let me come inside?
|
| Would you write your famous lines?
|
| And you lay your secret plans
|
| For suicide by slight of hand?
|
| And you let me down so kindly
|
| You don’t love me
|
| But you don’t mind me
|
| Percy Pursewarden
|
| After all your hard traveling
|
| Think a girl could lay down beside you without your world unraveling?
|
| In a modeling mess
|
| Yes, that’s my clothing in a pile
|
| Just wanna stay a little while
|
| Just wanna see that crooked grin
|
| After the sedatives set in, hey
|
| And then we’re feeling fine
|
| You don’t love me
|
| I don’t mind
|
| Percy Pursewarden
|
| I’ll be gone before you wake
|
| Back to the gallery of failures to see what I can make of you
|
| Pursewarden
|
| Have mercy on my heart
|
| Maybe I don’t want to call it art
|
| Just because you nailed it to the wall
|
| Maybe I’m a critic after all
|
| And you don’t have to remind me
|
| You don’t love me
|
| But you don’t mind me |