Sit down, and fire away,
I know it's tricky
when you're feeling low,
when you feel like your
flavour has gone
the way of a pre shelled pistachio
I know you're weighed down,
fed up with your heavy boots
laced with melancholy
notions all your own.

I do
- like sugar-
tend toward the brittle and sticky
when spun and i know
my demeanor has gone the way of a photo
left out in the sun so
I try to keep myself
in lilies and flax seeds
and what's the folly of fooling just yourself

Sit down and smoke away,
I wouldn't knock it til you're
in them shoes
and i know that our subtlety blows away
as a blush it gives way to a bruise
but seemly we'd freely pay the trade off,
a dry rot to take the weight off
and swap the boots for red shoes.