Shyann, I’m sorry, man
And I’ll do what I can to pay you back sometime
Every thought I had to share was better when you said it
A lesson often heard, yet to be learned, a creeping sentiment too true
The color of the curtains and your face are turning red
And you’ve half a thousand pretty pictures leaking out your head

Sweet bean, you know what I mean
It hurts to see someone you admire so much so vulnerable
Every hug before we met was waiting to be over
These accidental deprecations are your fifty ways to love a loser
But you deserve much better, often scared I can’t deliver
These jumbled nerves will sort themselves behind a cigarette
As thoughts of how you hate my guts produce a slight Tourette

Still I love Dave Byrne, the way that he sings
These are two of my favorite things
And I swear
I swear a lot

No bread on the table, no bacon up my sleeves
And I could starve half a lifetime; still I’d pay to watch you eat
However long I live may not constitute a lifetime
Sleep when you’re dead, you posthumous bedhead
I still swim like a waterbug
Paddling to exhaustion, don’t get anywhere still I love

Still I love Dave Byrne, the way that he sings
These are two of my favorite things
And I swear
I swear a lot

The simpleton inside me can’t decipher what comes next
An adolescent-like plateau; development arrest.
Still I love