poems

Mary packed her bags and left home on a Christmas Eve For sea soaked skies and dashing lads with cars An actress orphaned by the social constructs of her art school A victim of their esoteric rule So pretentious that she almost thought it cool But all you'd hear is La, la la la la La la la la la, la la La, la la la la La la la la la, la la Purpose was a vague ideal that she would always talk on Till she fell in love with the salesman from TV Yeah, she fell in love with a salesman from TV While all of Hollywood sang La, la la la la La la la la la, la la La, la la la la La la la la la, la la Pearly, pretty prize, and a ribbon box of sighs In a collared shirt She thought it wouldn't hurt Certain love of mine with the palest blue eyes In a collared shirt I thought it couldn't hurt Wood flavored kiss taste the concrete of this It really fucked with me, it really fucked with me California eyes are a death witch from design You really fucked with me La, la la la la La la la la la, la la La, la la la la La la la la la, la la La, la la la la La la la la la, la la La, la la la la La la la la la, la la