Pistachio

Sit down and fire away

I know it's tricky when you're feeling low

When you feel like your flavour has gone the way

Of a pre-shelled pistachio

I know you're weighed down

And fed up with your heavy boots

Laced with melancholy notions all your own

I do — like sugar — tend toward the brittle and sticky when spun

And I know my demeanour can go the way

Of a photo left out in the sun

And I try to keep myself in lilies and flax seeds

Oh what a folly, fooling just yourself

Sit down and smoke away

I wouldn't knock it till you're in them shoes

I watch as our subtlety blows away

As a blush it gives way to a bruise

But seemly we'd freely make the trade off

A dry rot to take the weight off

And swap the boots for red shoes