I don’t get off on this.
My promise to you
Full of platitudes.
Not being rude
In any way, shape or form,
But a storm is coming;
I can smell it.
And I walk the streets
Of Oxford
Bored out of my mind.
Not blind
To possibility,
Love gives you that,
But catch 22.
Can I tell the truth?
I can’t lie no more.
If you have memories
Stored
Reflect on them.
And if you respect them
Just give me a clue
And I can show you
What I can do.
