Pink Ink

How can you just sit there,

And push me to a corner.

Sitting there on that wooden chair,

Making me sound like a mourner.

I come, trying to ask a boon,

But you make it sound

Like asking for the moon.

Tying me up with many a bound.

Come on, get your arse off of the sidewalk,

Take a walk with me to your living, burning hell,

I hate your face, don't look me in the eyes,

Talk to the darkness, I can't see a thing.

Talk the talk, but you never walk the talk,

Don't you hear the death knell, that little golden bell,

Write your will, say your last bye-byes,

Don't talk to me, I ain't a lovely fling.

This ain't disobedience, just a little chat,

Why are you so serious, smile a little bit,

Blood on the walls, its just a flesh wound,

I don't feel a thing, I've got the analgesics,

Surely you can't see me unless you're a bat,

Not a guy, not a broad, just a little chit.

I've got my mind, I wouldn't just swoon,

I'm Wolfram; I ain't Giesekes.