If I called all of your bluffs out loud, we’d be here for months, and my voice would waste away to a bitter nothing.
But I need these pipes, and ain't nobody got that kind of time to spare.
So I’ll smile and quietly call each of those bluffs to myself. In gentle whispers, I’ll trim the fat, and slowly examine the parts of you that make sense.
I’ll soon notice that my salt pile’s used up from taking a pinch with each and every thing you say. I would replenish it, but I’m feeling too cheap, and it seems the rest of the sweethearts out there need those grains more than I do.
Don’t you worry though— this kind of cheap looks good on me. See, I am so sick of being thirsty and aching for that truth like honey.