You run hot, you run cold
This attitude of yours, is getting old
I'm getting tired of being told
That the way I am, is just too bold
I don't need a lecture, no time to scold
I don't want to wait til the bell has tolled
I need someone that I can hold

You figure that you can mold
Me into some token of gold
Then when you're done, I unfold
I am then ready to be sold
My soul has been rolled
Tucked up into the fold
I no longer have to try to uphold
This game of illusions when polled