Fosca Confused And Proud
Dear girl, you will be a boy for him tonight
Dear girl, he only wants to see the boy in you tonight
Do you still mooch there, still hung up on wedge hair?
Do you still mope there, falling asleep with wet hair?
All that you really want, is to know what it is you really want
Overweight wallflower goth, brought up on the wrong side of Lowestoft
With your crime of Being Yourself. And your punishment of Staying Yourself
Who exactly is your type? Where exactly is your type?
Confused and proud, but you can't say it loud
You're confused and proud, but you'll brazen it out
Of the forty-eight genders why must you concern yourself with merely two?
Plumping for polarity in your life, as if that somehow means more clarity in life
And if we held a protest demonstration, we'd all march off in different directions
Confused and proud, but it's scarcely allowed
You're confused and proud, and thrown out of the crowd
I didn't CHASE you, I more fell towards you
No, I did not CHOOSE you, I just fell towards you
And while sobriety slumbers, you and I may swap numbers
But those dutiful digits won't be dialled. Those dutiful digits won't be dialled
They're digits inevitably filed. They're digits to remain un-dialled
More digits that will never be dialled. More digits just scribbled and filed
More digits that will NEVER be dialled. More digits just written and filed
