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
|
|
-----------------
|
Pistachio
|
| Lisa Hannigan |
