Straight in at 101

I think we need more post-coital

And less post-rock

Feels like the build up takes forever

But you never get me off.

You pull your dress over your face

And I stare down towards my chest

Chastise both our greasy hair

Wonder whose gut is the softest

Stand with my ear to the door

Listening to the landing floor

I was working out when we'll be safe

To dash the mattress to your bathroom

Where I ball my fingers into fists

Until my knuckles glow bright white

Press the heels into eye-sockets

'Til I see the flashing lights

Stop me when my stories change

When they have started to repeat

Cause last time I was a mess asleep of icy feet

So baby

All apologies

It was going to happen inevitably

I think we need more post-coital

And less post-rock

Feels like the build up takes forever

But you never touch my cock

And what exactly do you mean now

By "what can you even eat?"

And how does that affect how I get off this evening

I flew down South to Mexico

Had a minor realization

I understood why kids draw the sun with its rays emanating

And nothing's broke the clouds the sky were like a concertina

A ?? in my pocket for weeks

Folded up from a picture

I've been playing straight chicken with gay girls

It's never enough

She keeps on pulling the peace sign

And it seems like a torch

She licked the glaze on her lips

They shone like Battleship Grey

She never liked the wisdom I gave

Some people give themselves to religion

Some people give themselves to a cause

Some people give themselves to a lover

I have to give myself to goals

So baby

All apologies

It was going to happen, inevitably

And if it helps

I mean, slightly at all

It's best to dust yourself down

And get straight back on the horse

I condescend a smile

And wink directly at the camera

And if you lay in both our senses

I tiptoe out the back door

I stoop down, I see streets in view

My face in the reflection

Of a High Street lingerie store

Though it wasn't my intention

I phoned my friends and family

To gather round the television

The talking heads count down the most heart-wrenching breakups of all time

Imagine the great sense of waste

The indignity, the embarrassment

When not a single one of that whole century

Was mine