it’s been a long time coming

...but we’ve been living as friends
so you’ve been a guest in your own home
it’s time to make your house your home
pick up your phone, come on...

love to see you happy

just wait for the weekend

---------

You and your museum of lovers
The precious collection you've housed in your covers
My simpleness threatened by my own admission

And the bags are much too heavy
In my insecure condition
My pregnant mind is fat full with envy again

Wanted and adored by attractive women
Bountiful selection at your descretion
I know I'm diving into my own destruction

So why do we choose the boys that are naughty?
I don't fit in so why do you want me?
I know I can't tame you. But I just keep trying

Cause I love to wash in your old bathwater
Love to think that you couldn't love another
I'm on your list with all your other women
But I still love to wash in your old bathwater
You make me feel like I couldn't love another
I can't help it. You're my kind of man

Why do the good girls always want the bad boys?

So I pacify problems with kisses and cuddles
Dilligently doubtful through all kinds of trouble
Then I find myself choking on all my contradictions

No I can't help myself
I still love to wash in your old bathwater

When we were walking lonely avenue.

When you look at the sky, you see what looks like stars stuck on the inside of a great sphere centered on the Earth. Because the distances are so large, they appear to be the same. This makes it look like the Earth is on the center of a great sky abbyss. All the stars seem to be infinitely far away. We can't fault the ancients for seeing the sky as a hollow circle; it certainly looks that way. Most of the time, staring.

once and for all...

...time will see us realign
diamonds rain across the sky
shower me into the same realm

istanbul, off the water

I'm with his pink fleecy shawl, he's drinking my wine. I'm still sleeping in his bed, he's out for my breakfast. I'm beating the devil's tatoo on the balcony's edge. He's goffering my hair thoroughly nice. Somehow I'm almost there, he's always but nowhere. We can't get enough.

Oh, Manchester!

Hi there! To explain the “Oh, Manchester!” thing, first there's a line in The Smiths song called Suffer Little Children that says, “Oh, Manchester, so much to answer for!” and it’s been stuck in my head for days. Or years? Whenever there is a quiet moment, for example, when I’m standing awkwardly in the middle of a gym, leaning on a hockey stick, the liquid voice of Morrissey will pop into my head, moaning something about, “Over the moors, I’m on the moors.” Fug, what a weird song, come to think of it. The Smiths have a lot of really weird songs, but there are so many priceless one-liners. “Ask me why, and I’ll spit in your eye.” Arg, so amazing. I’ve been asked so many stupid “why” questions in my life. “Why are you so weird?” “Why do you wear £500 shoes?” “Why is there a bandaid on your head?” (So, yeah, that one isn’t so stupid.) “Why can’t you just not be that childish?” I don’t know, I’m not you. Just stupid questions that have no sufficient answer. “Because I’m cool?” Right? Stupid questions. A bunch of...

And I wish to you, joy and happiness...

...But above all this, I wish you love.