Paper Hearts

To be born as anything but this
 The dying wish of a dinosaur's dish
 Of no use, a shitty gift like a single slipper
 I go diffuse in city quick like the little dipper
 She's cute with little titties and a sense of humor
 But to tell you the truth, sir, I pity the poor fool
 Her fruitless in a holster and clueless in a kiss
 I'm older than death, vulgar with unfresh breath
 During sex I might put us in some joke positions
 But it's scary always how we end up in mission
 Eerily Like the daring men who fight to submission
 Barely conscious there to care about the split decision
 Your sour thoughts you wield at me, you wring out your melon
 But it yields only drops like an unripe lemon
 All a man can understand is your bad intentions
 The less you talk the more you draw and seal an ending
 Keep leafing through the glossary
 Sitting there puffing weed
 Telling me repeatedly all the things you want to be
 The thug's just a boy once my money in the bags
 Is your love but a ploy like Bugs Bunny in drag?
 I leave my lungs open, exposed to the whole crew
 While you sneak a bump and smoke cloves in the coat room
 Itching like a local ho, wishing like Pinocchio
 The wind is at my back anew, but still I feel the lack of you
 Oh, you were so heavy in my heart, boo
 That soon no longer could my true heart hold you
 And like the angular Etruscan tchotchke my mom got me
 At the Met gift shop in '92
 Tearing from the brown paper bag I kept it in when it was new
 After I left it overnight when it was wet with dew
 It sounds blue and shitty
 But of course kid, like the little skinny bronze horse did, you fell through
 You were like a buoy I put down in open ocean
 But with no cross staff and no compass in my possession
 And too far out for a lighthouse to provide discretion
 How could I presume that you'd divine direction?
 Must have patience, accept no imitations
 Take no paper hearts and fucking hate carnations
 Though my home is vacant, yeah I'm lonesome while I wait
 That's no open invitation made to hope we make acquaintance
 The long walks home from the laundromat
 In Pop-Pop's Holden Caulfield hat
 Alone, lost for certain, dry and pent
 Dead bent like a merchant ivory gent
 Yes, to yet get a spouse and kids, have a house full
 But I'm hard to be around, and sterile as a roused mule
 (Preemptive nostalgia of the possible but doubtful)
 Preemptive nostalgia of the possible but doubtful
 ♪
 And always something reminds me of you