[Sage Francis]
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i'm having identity crises.
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"no we're not." "yes we are."
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i'm having identity crises.
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"no we're not." "yes we are."
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i don't have a feeling that hasn't been felt, feeling on my felt tip,
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showing my hand...revealing what i've dealt with.
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and how i'm dealing. cut the deck. evenly distribute the pieces
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of shit talking during our disputes on weekends.
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we can sing along to each other's song, right?
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even if the interpretation is wrong, right?
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just make sure you don't bring the wrong mike,
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'cause i don't care about meeting a boyfriend we can all like (nah!).
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this song is called trite, hope ya like it.
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could've substituted your name with the title but i decided that i'd keep it private.
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violent dream sequences just seem endless.
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i can see myself making a heated entrance
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to your workplace with a smirk on my face.
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and a tongue in my cheek. and a gun in my reach.
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sneaking naked photos of myself under the seats of your co-workers,
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putting a knife to your throat and screaming out "i won't hurt her!"
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they're like, "let her go!"
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and i'm like, "let her grow!"
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prisoners wouldn't listen to this. their rational side was out on a furlough.
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i like turbo-nuclear family affairs.
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i want a wife, a house, and two and a half mistresses to call when i'm not there.
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then hang up the phone, and have my wife call up the phone company,
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and ask the phone company guy "why???"
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and he's like, "ma'am...well, maybe you just don't know how to talk."
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and she's like, "damn...well...wanna fuck me?"
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"yeah of course."
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see? case closed. and he knows how to trace calls,
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so i can't make cranks saying, "i hate ya'll!"
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i throw baseballs at my mirror, break walls a tear a-
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nother page out of my diary, throwing it from the eighth floor 'til i hear a
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pin drop. unsuspecting pallbearers are in shock.
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they know i'm about to kill myself with a sling shot.
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they bring rocks for ammunition,
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steal my lifetime magazines and then cancel my subscription.
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their hands are just itching to scratch my clean records.
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my rap sheets are infected, now i can't be president???
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i just have to be elected! i ask for just a second chance.
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the answer back was "kid, you never did in the first place."
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speaking of that, give me my blue ribbons back and anything that is mine.
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waiting for a nice guy who can't make it to the finish line.
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when i die you won't recognize the picture buried inside the obituary,
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but it'll say, "bye, i miss you very much."
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i'm always one for last words at departing time,
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in a million years is when this dead star will shine.
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say my fuckin' name. nope. say my fuckin' name. nope.
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you don't...know what to call me so you don't.
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you don't you don't call me.
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you don't you don't call me.
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-----------------
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Trite
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| Sage Francis |
