No taste, No fun, No vim, No valour No ambition, No occupation Do me a favour Leave me alone in the spiral of time Let me churn the clock of mine If I get out, I'll be fine If I do not, I'll be fine Why bother, why remorse I'm donkey, I'm horse I am sweet, I am coarse I do know there is a light But I also like night
Something tells me that we ain't gonna last It has started ticking and soon gonna blast It's a mad drive, we are goin too fast Cupid's arrows were miscast Let's lust with caution, to surpass
I'm a song waiting to be a poem To shed my composition and become one One, that has its own syntactical orchestra To be read and recited, more than sung
I want to be in literature than a part of furniture To be taught and explained than rapped and clapped To be referred by an index than a playlist To be sewed than queued
I want to be reserved and pricy A little snob and arrogant - with respect More for the nerves than motors to react To be acclaimed seriously than commercially
All this is my wishful hymm I'm a song waiting to be a poem