Halfshirt

In that half shirt
Your head was a bouquet
Behind those bloodshot eyes
Were legible complaints

Watch you slip through
Another accident parade
Like all parades a waste
Of fine Papier-mâché

Posing idle threats
To a sterile life at best
As we breakfast on cholesterol
To our clogged up heart's content

And though our blood screams
Too much to ever say
Every time you speak
My attention drifts away

Like some crime scene
A prisoner by mistake
Forced to watch each time
The chalk line gets erased

Love your bitter hate
And colorblind mans taste
Spawn of Satan sports a fake tan
And a 29 inch waist

Soft tossed blame
Damaged saints and a low flying plane
Follow bad advice
Cross a bridge on borrowed ties
And waive the right to break the frame

Posing idle threats
To a sterile life at best
As we breakfast on cholesterol
To our clogged up heart's content
Love your bitter hate
And colorblind mans taste
Worn out welcome obligation
Difficult to face