‘Mx. L.A. Smears IV Esq.'

All morning, behind the door
In molasses of my own thought
See what you grabbed…see what it brought

Well, I'm sad to say that was me
But I'm glad to say it got me
Albeit broken and battered
Through the war

So, if less is more
What will you scrap - of mine that's now yours?
And what will you keep back – if anything at all…?

You say the bad betray their folly
And that I'm mad to play things softly
Hey, my hopes and dreams were shattered
Long before!

Yet I still feel sore
That I feel a stat, viewed at best as tawdry comedy
And worst a social sore

But you don't have to say you're sorry
No, you don't have to say you're sorry
‘Cause it really doesn't matter

No, it really doesn't matter
No, it really doesn't matter
No, it really doesn't matter
Anymore.

 

© M.A.Tovey 2011