My scruffy radio played Bach
(Misery, after all, needs a background score)
He had always been great at sales talk,
Isn't the customer responsible for the blood and gore?
I wish I could say that he had - eyes like sin,
The Physique of a rugged warrior and the words of Yeats.
He didn't. He wrote love notes to Java, had an affair with
the Recycle bin
And - Those were pretty much all of his feats.
And yet the heart craved. And yet, the heart broke.
You can hear the green monster, as he picks up his hammer to
bash.
Do you want to see the pieces of me in a Baroque?
Care for a kaleidoscope, to see my system crash?
Oh, let me be dramatic. Let me cry and have the booze.
Rejection has never been an associate, let me be rude.
For I fell for the boring, the beautiful and the damned
flooze,
And he left me, so let my broken heart brood.
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