Sore Subject

Like a helpless captive, a distraught midwife

Like a Libran husband and a Capricorn wife

I turn to wine and whiskey and these cryptic songs

Maybe I'm passive aggressive or maybe I'm wrong



But don't go yet, old lipstick, old cassettes

Clutter the carpet where my futile head rests

And I'd explain it, but I've long-since dismissed

The thought of vitality, you'll get nothing out of me

But don't go yet



And like a sore subject, objective pursuit

Like a fearful me or an asinine you

And we avoid eye contact as I'm just dragged along

Maybe I should just grow up or maybe I'm wrong



As soon as my eyes avert, more skin of alabaster

You don't warn me before, you just devastate me after

And like a dangling noose or like an endless sea

We both know how to love and I think you owe more to me