Click it: Left, right, eleven sockets down to your pockets, she’s got the look but her eyes say you’re gone; up and down, the sixteen melodies trick the king, and he’s lost waiting (time passed him by again); take the A train uptown and fall back down with hope and love—wishing and hoping that it’s Monday again and your heart is once again transparent.
Sink down: Thirteen notches into the gutter, and you life is in flutter; eight nimble legs that swing about and bring down your ego, and her eyes whisper to you her jealousy—yet you can’t let go; cause she’s done it again, and you’ve flown it again, the coup that you once had, once led and when time came, readily fled—it’s coming back again, so watch out for your head.
Think inward: The methodical strangeness of her scent, the touch of her fingers and how they made you shiver; the warmth that you gave her; it goes both ways, and she’s waiting for the 6 train because that’s where you met her; and she’s waiting, forever, for another, but she’ll never ever forget you.
Lose yourself: Because that’s all there’s left to do.