Tic

The tic begins

Where's the manner end?

The climate change

Will never get in

Silent and strong

Pre-possessed

You never need

To make your own mess

Weasel to me

Charming to some

Loathsome and glib

Habits like self love

Wearing slim fast

Carve your niche

Lean smug back

Work your pitch

And all the way I'm gone

No demon race to find

And you paint it up and know

That any face could lie

And all the way I'm gone

No demon race to find

You paint it up and know

That any face could lie

Affect my greatest style

What suits me best of all

I keep my pocket filled

Lean right and fall