Feeding The Hand That Bites You

Oh, the tired things exhausted people say like, "take me home" and "are you going to ask me that every night for the rest of our lives?" Here's the short answers: you already are and if you're lucky. Tell me, can your conscience even be bought at all? People say the worst with the straightest and I have to wonder how much theirs cost because forty thousand years of borrowed time is two ticks and one tock compared how forever feels when you go on and ruin everything with 54.5 +/- of your actuarial years left to blow; not that I would know, I'm just guessing and some people come cheap; I mean, a friend of a friend told me so. She is crazy and I am neurotic and I'm giving myself a hair-splitting headache trying to figure out what makes me worth the effort and what made her not and your nearby brother's blushing bride said it was the "golden pussy" but I'd like to think that I think, I think. All it takes is a gentle breeze to expose my abandonment complex and not more than one or two shots before my inferiority complex is on display and yeah, I agree, I might oughta get that thing looked before it grows real big and scars me all up because the pressure is dropping 'round these atmospherics and I think I smell tequila.

You wanna know something real fucked up? Yeah, me either.