Taking turns dancing, can't deny the glancing.
You led me astray, then turned away.
I'll admire your hair, didn't hear a bell. Maybe was the sirens that made me drool on the floor.
Taking turns glancing, can't deny the trancing.
I drooled with the sirens, and I knew it wasn't a bell.
Taking turns dancing, can't help but glancing.
I'm too drunk to be a punk, too young to be a grunge. You'll just keep dancing and I'll keep on glancing.
I'm drooling over you, didn't need a bell. Maybe was the smell.
I'm too drunk to be a punk, too young to be a grunge. And I sure as hell won't be drooling over the sound of a bell.
YOU ARE READING
SCHISMS
شِعرA collection of wounds disguised as poems SCHISM /ˈs(k)izəm/ noun plural noun: schisms a split or division between strongly opposed sections or parties, caused by differences in opinion or belief. The world torn apart. Poetry to heal the wounds. Th...
