Fosca

Don't bother with their wisdom, don't bother with white lies.
I'm trying to deliver what's written in their eyes.
If the rot can't be stopped, then why not o why not,
Can't I swim with the tide but faster?
And you speak about the "Sanctity of Life".
While going out of your way to make someone's hell.

Say what you won't say. Tell what you can't tell.
Take back your kindness. Wait to be weightless.
Death to the future. My choice of freedom.
Hoping is... hopeless. Wait til I'm weightless.

I've been beaten at adult games too many times to mention.
Less and less is making sense. Not sure I was meant to get older.
If it's wrong to prolong what cannot here belong,
Can't I swim with the tide but faster?
Fairly soon I'll be wholly immune to the Hipster Disease of Blanking.
Writing an ode from no fixed abode is cruel on the ones who are STRONGER.
If it's bad to have had not an inkling of Glad,
Is it worse to want no more of Wanting?
If it's bad to have had not a smidgen of Glad,
Is it worse to want no more of Wanting?
And you speak about the wonders of your life.
As if indulgence needs a by-your-leave at all.
To be weightless...

Dear girl, you will be a boy for him tonight.
Dear girl, he only wants to see the boy in you tonight.
Do you still mooch there, still hung up on wedge hair?
Do you still mope there, falling asleep with wet hair?
All that you really want, is to know what it is you really want.
Overweight wallflower goth, brought up on the wrong side of Lowestoft.
With your crime of Being Yourself. And your punishment of Staying Yourself.
Who exactly is your type? Where exactly is your type?

Confused and proud, but you can't say it loud.
You're confused and proud, but you'll brazen it out.

Of the forty-eight genders why must you concern yourself with merely two?
Plumping for polarity in your life, as if that somehow means more clarity in life.
And if we held a protest demonstration, we'd all march off in different directions.

Confused and proud, but it's scarcely allowed.
You're confused and proud, and thrown out of the crowd.

I didn't CHASE you, I more fell towards you.
No, I did not CHOOSE you, I just fell towards you.
And while sobriety slumbers, you and I may swap numbers.
But those dutiful digits won't be dialled. Those dutiful digits won't be dialled.
They're digits inevitably filed. They're digits to remain un-dialled.
More digits that will never be dialled. More digits just scribbled and filed.
More digits that will NEVER be dialled. More digits just written and filed.

You watch and wince and then you yearn
"Will people in London never learn?"
The grace of Harrow and Eton skies
Has yet to be beaten in your eyes.

Give me days of dreaming spires,
Over punctured bicycle tyres.
In a place devoid of taste
Remaining chaste isn't much of a waste.
It's not such a waste.
It's not much of a waste.

Don't be so down on Breeders.
They are people too, well so I heard.
The chapel's hymns and sweet-sung psalms,
They offer you Love within their arms.
There's Love in their arms.
Real Love in those arms,
For those cruelly born into the wrong time or class.
Into the wrong time or class.
O Love without emulation. Of Love without negotiation.
It's Love without association. Show me Love without toleration.
It's Love without defamation. Real Love without social tourism.
O Love without remission! O Love without permission!

O, Barrie, you know far too much about me.
J.M. Barrie, he knows far too much about me, it seems...
The "onlie begetter" had it down to the letter for me.
I'm out of sync and on the blink, and I would sink normally...
If this wasn't such a dead sea.
I'm out of sync and on the brink, and I would sink easily...
If this place wasn't such a dead sea.

When you live without expectation,
You can never be let down.
Still you say
"Trust NO ONE who kisses eyes open.
Trust in God but lock your car."

Thoughtlessness may well be their excuse,
While fecklessness may well be mine.
But what's yours?
I found the truth, and it was of no use.
I came here to do nothing and did it very well.

You're not yourself, you're an imitation
That only answers to the same name.
So phone in sick, today, tomorrow.
Tell them tell them why
There must be more to life than this.
Reclaim your own, that which was meant for us,
It was meant for us.
Reclaim your own, that which was meant for us,
It was meant for us.
Writing songs for the well-read and the ill-fed.
Writing songs for the waiflike and the WRAITHLIKE
And the Safely Unliked.
Inviting the sort of license normally afforded
Only to children and fools...