you're walking around, dead practically,
then you find a girl
who is good
and life gets easier.
no, life becomes a song.
black clouds shuffle off and the sun
even comes out
saying hey here i am, enjoy me
while i'm around.
the chipping of the soul seems to stop.
am i dreaming? you ask yourself.
is this a trick? don't let me wake.
there's the girl, you see, a delicious hummingbird in your brain,
drowning out the bollocks,
the day to day sh!t,
the arguments
(the ones with yourself too),
the pettiness,
the general testosterone filled
scrimmage and boot strapping of the masses.
the girl, oh the girl with the Cherokee Indian hair
all the way down to her waist,
wearing the stripey stockings
and Doc Marten boots,
your kisses give me life.