What Little Is Left

My hips feel like they've partially ripped apart I've got no organ that doesn't ache or whine I've sold my body and mind, what little is left I promised it all to you, but what do you do, Bent over tying a brogue leather tan shoe You tell me I'm better off alone You best go, before I take these, here shoes off again And it gets unwholesomely dark. My eyes are sore and red, and I'm questioning If I'm not better off dead, brown bead If this be another man, another lover, kicks me out of bed Kicks me in the head; my heart will break I'm not a relic or 'heroic' I'm not a heroine, Who suffers increasingly from mute deafness? Maybe like Beethoven, I've gone increasingly deaf From making my music too divine...all the time. My heart is a heavy lead weight It's got no buoyancy anymore it isn't a snow-capped mountain Sorry, but I can't make any more false turns, descents, Downward turns, not even for a babe like you. Maybe, just maybe, it wasn't meant Oh, love is such a rat race And if I spend any more time in the dark I'll contract Scurvy and forget there are other stars. Oh, my soul wants to travel alone Jettisoned like a flintstone bursting into fire I want to recoil and be the last instrument of death No man can resist; I only want to make music That haunts and follows you, Wherever you are sleeping, wherever you are dreaming Oh, I only want to be consumed by you I've sold my body and mind, what little time is left I promise it all to you, and like Beethoven go increasingly deaf making music too divine to ever end in discord.