Lyrics
Sick on the brink of a new lurk for kicks
A true new low for the old pone to fix
Mood hyped, teen night, over at the roller rink
Rehearsing slow lewd winks, nude, at the men's room sink, ya'll
Evil, pink, small, lesser, surly, and lurid
Open girlies for leisure, never not where the youth is
Son, the putrid things I've done for purely my pleasure?
Surely at 30-plus it must seem untoward
Mass nasty sex in the dorms
Don't ask me when I was born
Less known is best come morn'
Yes, you'd never guess, but in this form I'm a mess
And with this heavy chest I can't rest
So why put the porn in a poem to confess and atone
I address the past and ask why I'm alone
In a torn tone I preach peace and poor from the pulpit
But at home, Jack Kennedy sheaths and shag carpet
Purchased parkas from Marshalls at ridiculous markups
Out at farmer's markets and high thread count garments
And on FourSquare this morning, like an old yoga yuppie
I checked in at Krogers in a gold pullover toga like "fuck it"
I use the first person cause it sounds more urgent
But the truth is I probably knew myself less than you did
I'm so lonesome that I'd let you take me out
If you looked like my ex-girlfriend or Zooey Deschanel
But heed this honey, even if I beg for relations
You should try to only keep me as a distant acquaintance
Yeah, but I'm too persistent for that to work
And what's worse is when you finally fall asleep
I'm gonna go through your purse
