Sunday Munich Flu
Slowly writing me out of the story
The way your words can strangle
The lack thereof can blind
Lay by me you aren't here
And ankles bound by obligation
For all the presents broken
And promises bought
And religion and respect sought after
You can't answer
I have made you mine
[I feel cold and I feel bitter)
Fashioned little to be recognized [and I look small]
Oh, my dream [have gotten frail]
This week I'm weak and trying to recall
Why I came to you again
And you smile and try to mean what you say
You're swallowed in teeth and try to repay
Replay the scene you can replace
What you dreamed
Going door to door
To find myself
You try to stay faithful to my pride
To blend into the end
To fit the mean
