Your cards are something that I desperately would like to fix
But my fingers are terribly stupid with those witty kinds of tricks
If I could, I would move the conceited constellations by degrees
After re-tossing all your bewitched leaves from your stupid teas
And I don’t know whether God just weighted your dice for kicks
But I wish I could be an ill sport and pick for you a face of any six
Because, although I can only see nonsense when you grin about your Belief,
It has moulded you into something perfect
and you deserve all there is of any relief.
Jul 22, 2014
Jul 22, 2014 at 5:46 PM UTC
Your cards are something that I desperately would like to fix
But my fingers are terribly stupid with those witty kinds of tricks
If I could, I would move the conceited constellations by degrees
After re-tossing all your bewitched leaves from your stupid teas
And I don’t know whether God just weighted your dice for kicks
But I wish I could be an ill sport and pick for you a face of any six
Because, although I can only see nonsense when you grin about your Belief,
It has moulded you into something perfect
and you deserve all there is of any relief.
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