What is it that troubles me
No I know I haven't told you
And though I take the time to hold you
We haven't yet managed to second guess
To prevent distress I don't ask that you unfold me
No I know you are happy that I hold you
And rather pleased that no, I do not scold you
Yet perhaps it is time to probe, not just to impress
Don't let them fuck you about, it is not compassionate
To be brutal, it is not clever to tear that frail paper
When what it needs is a firm frame to wrap around
It is a tree which speaks well to me of frailty and indecision
With the precision of bonsai the branches point neither
In the way of the road less travelled, or any other road
It is a different tree, more wilful and wild of nature
With the precociousness of a night-after hairdo
Which says more about a night on then town than a night on the tiles
They are the real deal (and I know some people their equal)
I am the faithless pretender (and you know some people my equal)
If you don't want to be alone with me should I be on my own
If you don't want to share thatch and stone with me should I moan
Or just get on and do something about it; my purpose thus to roam
I find people, I lose people, I hope one day that it may slow down
