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This letter you get it, |
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You burn it, |
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Forget it |
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It's not what I meant to say |
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You might think me a scapegrace |
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Really a fugitive in decay |
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I exist here on an acre of nature |
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In the diminutive |
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But I'll be thinking of you, I would wager |
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My favorite hypocrite |
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You are a master of the commerce of friendship |
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So I put all of my feathers on |
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I wrote you this letter, I'll send it |
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When this foul weather is gone |
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Of your last words to me I am thinking |
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And of the depth of your eyes |
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But you can't halt the profound shrinking |
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Of this, my porcelain life |
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You're vexed that I reject your protection |
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Well I abhor captivity |
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I want to live alone in my little section |
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So very wild and watery |
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How to preserve my own mistaken perfection? |
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Or your refined vulgarity |
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I only tenuously ask you this question |
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Out of a sense it was for clarity |
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You are a master of the commerce of friendship |
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So I put all of my feathers on |
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I wrote you this letter, I'll send it |
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When this foul weather is gone |
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Of your last words to me I am thinking |
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And of the depth of your eyes |
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But you can't halt the profound shrinking |
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Of this, my porcelain life |
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My porcelain life |
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My porcelain life |
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I find it very breakable |
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My porcelain life |
