Not sure if I should hitch my wagon to you
Just don't know if that's the best move
You say all the right things
Paint a picture of a beautiful dream
But how do I know that once I get in the door
You won't keep shouting more, more, more
Lots of promises about freedom of thought
Want to believe it will be more than beat the clock
Lord knows you don't get anywhere standing still
That don't mean you grab every dirty bottle and take a swill
Thinking that will be the sip that makes me rich
But in the end I end up being your bitch
So maybe I toss away the chance at cash
Sit on the sidelines...finish last
I walk away from your prize
Because my gut says you're full of lies
Leave me hanging on the street
Just another stripped down piece of meat
Bet the house on your game
Taken again by another dame
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1 comment:
A disturbing bit of prose this. Hard put to tell if you're describing a career op or a lover.
If it's a lover your pondering, turn up the heart and turn down the head. If it's a job, turn up the head and dial down the heart. You're still young enough to take chances in either sphere and notice I didn't say to "turn off" anything. The "sip from a dirty bottle" thing is an upsetting way to refer to anything or anyone. Is this a predisposition or is it justified? Is the lover or the job really the liar or are you telling yourself a fib to justify a bailout? I have no facts so I don't know. Do you?
h
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