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Storytelling Johnny, sit me on your knee. |
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Recite me some memory. No one else need see. |
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Glowing with gossip of some gamine from Glossop. |
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Boyish girl with a rucksack. Girlish boy with a bad back. |
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You're high on Wittgenstein. You are kind with red wine. |
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Whispering after a time, "I ALONE AM MINE." |
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Storytelling Johnny, crying like Niobe. |
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Moaning "if only others were as TIDY as me. |
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I once attempted Love. But it was oh so MESSY. |
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Not like in the MOVIES. Where at least it's much SHORTER... |
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It's best to dye your hair. It's best to change your name. |
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Rather than pin the blame on some helpless mother." |
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I long for today to be just like it was at school, |
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Where I was nearly Loved just for sharing my answers. |
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But the Happy Adult look wasn't in any Usborne book. |
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And a gold star in algebra won't get you far (except the bar). |
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And in a hopeful maisonette, the girl pushed a boy away and said |
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"These hips are not child-bearing, they're child-SPURNING |
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And child-SPARING and child-SCARING." |
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I was getting so afraid. I nearly had a t-shirt made |
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Saying 'LOSE FRIENDS IN DAYS, ASK ME HOW.' |
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She is now smoking menthols, because she heard they make you sterile. |
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She says "I'm helping evolution while remaining very stylish. |
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And oh it's also very handy for removing a young family |
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From a crowded cafe... I just light up and SWEAR LOUDLY. |
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Well I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." |
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Storytelling Johnny, throw your words around me. |
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You never fail to regale with a new tale. |
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You're still high on Wittgenstein. You're still ready with red wine. |
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You are free from anyone's designs, saying "I alone am mine." |
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You're resigned to "I alone am mine." |
