I would tell you
If I could
How
Just how
Neurotic this life could be
Why the whole world is in a state of PTSD.
Of the worst kind
Between you and me
An alien invasion
Would seem a social occasion
These days
Will Phoenix rise from the ashes?
Are we all going to hell
In a handbasket?
Wondering what creative works will arise
Out of the ashes of humanity
Some forged in the fires of hell
Some catapulted into a brothel of insanity
Some say we’ll get through this
Some lost in the 3d matrix

Baby wants to go swimming
How neurotic can this life be
So at the end of the day
With thick bolts of lighting
Streaking fury
Across the night sky
Not a night to go swimming, but
Baby always gets her way

She is never where you are
Except even you, I regret
Can be an invasion of sorts
Like one trying to get out of ones’ own head
Here where she thought she’d share it all with you
Instead

Whether or not
You wanted to hear
What she wanted to say
I’d say not
It only matters that
Baby gets her way
And at that
she’s so good
Reasonable
Sensible
Demanding
Annoying
And somewhat cute
She pouts and sighs
And cries, cries, cries
Pity. Pity, pity
Oh pity me
Baby nurtures her pity
Like a fine cup of tea

How many permissions does she need?
We all have our boundaries
Trespassers all
Yours suffocate me
You pounded on middle c
Choked on conventionality
Exalted banality
never acknowledged egality
You doused the fire
Put out desire
How unreasonable of me
To think
We could ever be
Like a lion and a canary
And a cage to come home to
I really didn’t know you.

You apologized to everyone but me
Oh baby
Please forgive me  
I was wrong and
I promise
You believe me
Please don’t leave me.
I’m down on my hands and knees
Begging you, please.

You can
Cry me a river
If you can’t forgive her
Then serve one master, sir
I defer  
let it be her

Don’t cry for me Argentina
If I’m not leanin
your way

You’re quite pathetic
But don’t let it
Get in your way
Baby.

How neurotic can this life be?
These were all parts of her
Some she wasn’t so proud of
But what of it
We’ve all been there
Except for the saints before us
Whose halos get a little tarnished
From all the lies they’ve garnished
What of it, even
God doesn’t go around with a halo
On his head
Or does she?

Just a story
You don’t have to believe it
But. I know you do
Because it’s true

And that was her story
And now that’s his story.