Bobbing and weaving between taking a drag and never saying I’m sorry. You want the after show, never high risk with brittle chances, you want a curtain closed, offense of a kiss. You want to expose me. I told you I wouldn’t perform in this love. But you know when my thoughts aren’t of you; needing to prick such impenetrable fables, the ones I believe into truth, for a maximum reward on my behalf. I play with your carnal desires, so you like it when my show is over, and my operating schemes have ended, and all my desperations come out to play, and I’m ashamed, just for you.