Why? — Paper Hearts

 

¸.❤•*´¨`*•♥.❤¸♡♡ ♥ ♡¸❤. ♥•*´¨`*•❤.¸

 

Montagsherz (3)

 
Augeschnappt bei TimeBandits und sofort für gut befunden, deshalb poste ich auch gerne den ein oder anderen Montag das ein oder andere Herz …

 

ჱڿڰۣڿ—♥ڿڰۣჱڿڰۣ♥—ڿჱ

 

 

  • „Paper Hearts“ from the new Why? album ‚Mumps, etc.‘ – out now via City Slang
  • Why? — Paper Hearts

    To be born is anything but this
    The dying wish of a dinosaur’s dish
    Of no use, a shitty gift like a single slipper
    I go diffuse in city quick like the little dipper
    She’s cute with little titties and a sense of humor
    But to tell you the truth, sir
    I pity the poor fool, her
    Fruitless in a holster and clueless in a kiss
    I’m older than death
    Vulgar with unfresh breath
    During sex I might put us in some joke positions
    But it’s scary always how we end up in missionary
    Like the daring men who fight to submission
    Barely conscious there to care about the split decision
    Your sour thoughts you wield at me
    You wring out your melon
    But it yields only drops like an unripe lemon
    All a man can understand is your bad intentions
    The less you talk the more you draw and seal and ending
    Keep leafing through the glossary
    Sitting there puffing weed
    Telling me repeatedly all the things you want to be
    The thug’s just a boy once my money in the bags
    Is your love but a ploy like Bugs Bunny in drag?
    I leave my lungs open, exposed to the whole crew
    While you sneak a bump and smoke cloves in the coat room
    Itching like a local ho
    Wishing like Pinocchio
    The wind is at my back anew
    But still I feel the lack of you
    Oh, you were so heavy in my heart, boo
    That soon no longer could my true heart hold you
    And like the angular Etruscan tchotchke my mom got me
    At the Met gift shop in ’92
    Tearing from the brown paper bag I kept it in when it was new
    After I left it overnight when it was wet with dew
    It sounds blue and shitty
    But of course kid, like the little skinny bronze horse did
    You fell through
    You were like a buoy I put down in open ocean
    But with no cross staff and no compass in my possession
    And too far out for a lighthouse to provide discretion
    How could I presume that you’d divine direction
    Must have patience
    Accept no imitations
    Take no paper hearts and fucking hate carnations
    Though my home is vacant
    Yeah I’m lonesome while I wait
    That’s no open invitation made to hope we make acquaintance
    The long walks home from the laundromat
    In Pop-Pop’s Holden Caulfield hat
    Alone, lost for certain
    Dry and pent
    Dead bent like a merchant ivory gent
    Yes, to yet get a spouse and kids
    Have a house full
    But I’m hard to be around
    And sterile as a roused mule
    Preemptive nostalgia of the possible but doubtful
    Preemptive nostalgia of the possible but doubtful

    And always something reminds me of you

 

¸.❤•*´¨`*•♥.❤¸♡♡ ♥ ♡¸❤. ♥•*´¨`*•❤.¸

 

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