do not talk to him…
do not talk to her –
she is a snake in the grass
there is a secret she would not share

on the verge
of tears
of a hill
well i broke down
and still they did not seem real

not sure of who i used to be
or what i wanted to be
i believe i have always understood
if that is the case

just like –
little yellow post-it notes are –
the revolution of petty office politics

we are tired of throwing pennies
into the wishing well
take me back to childhood bedtime
and stories that we tell

so this country
wants a king and queen after all
this country needs to pull its socks up
our dignity, for too long, has been in freefall

if i am here
then, where are you?
with that dead end job
and business like shoes

i have got the friends
who are as close as can be
the inner circle that circles me
and allows me to be free