| I am, just for a moment, carefully spoken, broken
|
| Wearing what I just woke up in.
|
| I end without a warning, reasonably worn out.
|
| I got the sense that you won’t be too miserable.
|
| And everybody knows
|
| It aches the heart to go on
|
| And so often I’ll knit
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| A pattern taken from the thirteenth levels
|
| Wrapped in bubble bobble again?
|
| You’ll ask whether I’m mad.
|
| I’m better at acting sad,
|
| But you’ll refrain I rarely strain my voice,
|
| But now that you’ve taken all of the other waking
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| Hours ahead of it out, forget it
|
| And everybody sews,
|
| But it takes a girl with know-how
|
| To know how to plow through
|
| An autumn-colored scene depicting
|
| You and me careening on a see-saw
|
| But now that you’ve shown disinterest in the thought
|
| I’ve taken that it’s not
|
| What I’ve sewn that’s driven you to leave
|
| It’s got to do with me.
|
| You can, just for a moment, see if it’s torn or not
|
| And if it is then you might as well stood the chance
|
| Walking at night, drinking again,
|
| Sulking at sight of your girlfriend.
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| Loiter and sigh, needle in hand,
|
| Embroidering myself as planned but
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| Stranded across an empty seat.
|
| Since you’ve shown disinterest in the thought
|
| I’ve taken that it’s not
|
| What I’ve sewn that’s driven you to leave.
|
| It’s making me believe
|
| That what you’ve done to me
|
| Has got to do with me. |