I wish you understood how cool I can be
When I'm not hiding my eyes from what I perceive
To be the sun shining from yours
I wish you could see the nonchalant posts
I write when I'm hoping you're there with the ghosts
It's me who is the one so out of doors
Because I'm now tapping at the windows
Like the Dickensian kid I'm not
And that is how my sin flows
From wounds that cannot clot
Stem, stem, but I'm a social scientist
And not enough to be of interest
Of keeping myself to myself:
I need you to look up to my shelf.

I wish you understood how wanted I am
When I am chasing after the success-bound tram
Not the tail of your shooting star
I wish you could see how I'm queen of the sidewalk
The subject of everyone's gaze and idle talk
When my eyes aren't burning the West, so far
Because I'm now singing on street corners
Like the desperate artist I'm not
I wish my luck was like Jack Horner's
Would the Plum Land please be my lot?
Wait, wait, but I know I'm not life's patient
And too much to match your gradient
To be keeping myself to myself:
I need you to look up to my shelf.

I'm not falling off, but I could
I could call it off, but I would
Rather win please, even though
I concede I am losing,
And it's highly confusing
The way I go on with the show.

'Cos I'm now writing stupid letters
Like the complaining tenant I'm not
Counting you... the highest of my betters
And believe me there aren't a lot
Stop, stop, but maybe I'll write something good
And sufficient to get a Laureatehood
'Cos I'm not keeping myself to myself:
I need you to look up to my shelf.