Pistachio

Sit down and fire away, I know it’s
tricky when you’re feeling low,
When you feel like your flavour
Has gone the way of a pre-shelled pistachio…
I know you’re weighed down
you’re fed up with your heavy Your boots
Laced with melancholy notion’s all you own…

I do – like sugar – tend toward the
brittle and sticky when spun
And I know my demeanor
Has gone the way of a photo left out in the sun…
I try to keep myself in lillies and flax seeds…
Oh what a folly- fooling just yourself…

Sit down and smoke away, I wouldn’t knock
it till you’re in them shoes
Oh watch as ours subtlety blows away as a
blusher gives way to a bruise…
But seemly, we’d freely make a trade-off
A dry rot to take the weight off
Swap the boots for red shoes