Sleeping In The Inkwell
Been looking around for that strange smell,
Don’t know if it’s coming from under the sink.
I been sleeping in the inkwell,
I can only wonder what you must think.
I hear there’s been a lot of loose talk,
Some dude talking smack about my babe,
But I been sleeping in the inkwell,
I wanted no part of that charade.
My babe, she left me,
High and dry in the summer,
She say I’m a liar, written in a note from her,
But I disagree.
She never really knew me.
But life had other idears,
My face got pocked,
I died many deaths looking into mirrors,
The doors to my sad kingdom utterly locked.
Still looking around for that strange smell,
It must be coming from under the sink,
I been sleeping in the inkwell,
I can only wonder what you must think.
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