Burn

Here's to you, the same chords that I stole From a song that I once heard The same melody I borrowed from the void I'd rather observe than structure a narrative The characters are thin The plot does not develop It ends where it begins The screen, in paperbacks In section 8 and cul-de-sacs Electro haikus and drunk sonnets Are moving me along Along (Coughing) What I'd give to force your sigh What I'd give to see you cry What I'd give for your caress To see your blue cotton dress Balled up on the floor Certain memories are the problem Certain drunken lines are the shame Seven hundred miles and two years I can't fight the burn