Died of old age, at home and at ease
Played Louis Armstrong on some ukulele
Where the hell are you from? You say the strangest things
Have you been told you look like Tiger Lily?
Your warm summer blood
My seashell ashtray
You're bleeding metaphors
While I'm stoned and depressed
Look between your words, you're feeling out a feeling
If we ever get alone, make love to me
My closest friends, still they don't know me at all
I know I'm ill and I need more help than I let on
I need your verbal lobotomy, your hypnotic fibs
Sweet matron of my suffering
My moonlight sedative
I'm too much to handle, at least that I know
So when my throes start up again I will know to leave you alone
Until my daylight shines again
