I never told you, but I used to raise a degree,
when you tapped playfully on my windowpane.
Clickity clickity clackity clickity...click.
Are you still good at cloaking that battered heart?
Still tracing those neon hieroglyphs?
I'm not being judgmental; I've grown up a bit.
Though I can see you haven't improved in anything
Forever plotting never improving,
can't recognize when you're losing
A steady diet of dope has turned ambition to laziness.
And that pretty face has attracted perverts and crazies.
You're still my Lord Rayleigh butterfly
emerging from the saxophone mist
clickity clickity- clickity clackity...click.
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