Spade

Your eyes are like obsidian They gaze into oblivion Slack-jawed as a simpleton staring at the sun A sinner's disdain for a saint Anguish makes a marinade That slowly seeps into my brain Until your mouth can make me tame... And on the topic of sin I'm halfway between caring and offering a spade To dig up a hole that you want to live in Cigarettes and perfume were Cruel tools to employ Emptying your arsenal Attempting to destroy My confidence, or any hope for change of circumstance In trusting in a cut-rate actor playing at romance And on the topic of change I won't owe you a dime for the dollars made In telling all the world of your half-wit smile And all the scars you've been handing out I hope that someone finds you... I hope that someone finds you...