I'd be better off on Broadway, baby
You know, the way I always sell myself out
The way the words just creep up past my clavicle
And tiptoe out my mouth
Passed teeth too bashful to bite my tongue
A young, fruitful phrase
I've found, with age, not sound, but sour
It's got my head in the clouds
My loudest body language barely makes a sound
And now I'm standing next to your fire,
But I can't put it out
Allow me an inch
Give me an inch
Allow me an inch
And I'll take thirty-six
I'll make a mountainous molehill of it
And yeah, maybe at my age
I shouldn't stay awake so late
But I'll be damned
If I settle down early
Or get down on bended knee
Unless I'm just lacing up my sneaks
To take a long walk off my short comings
Til, like my hair, my insecurities recede
So I might satisfy your needs
When it comes to copulation
I may seek resuscitation
Or finish one foot out the gate
Depending on the situation
It gets worse with conversation
When passion by the wayside falls
It calls for overcompensation
I'm no good with confrontation
I wish we still found sublimation
In the sweaty hands and happy glands
Of mutual masturbation
But as it is, I lay untouched
By love or consolation
I think we make acute equation
So that the sum have no remainder
I ask you divide me just a fraction of your patience