My Fatal Organ
Lately I have been trying
To make new friends by gluing my eyes on them.
And lately I have been crying
In time with the beat I feel deep in my chest.
But I will not trust my fatal organ again,
And you see well out of your bad eyes she said.
Oh, well bred and admired
But there's a hundred more like me in my stead.
'Cause I'm not up with the times,
I'm scared and old fashioned.
I write songs instead.
"But, oh the high pursuit of love and all its ends."
You know I'm content with just fooling around in my head.
Suffering the symptoms of an old fashioned,
I've grown old in my time.
So what bull should I grab the horns by, oh why?