Pistachio

Sit down and fire away
I know it's tricky when you're feeling low
When you feel like your flavour has gone the way
Of a pre-shelled pistachio
I know you're weighed down
And fed up with your heavy boots
Laced with melancholy notions all your own

I do — like sugar — tend toward the brittle and sticky when spun
And I know my demeanour can go the way
Of a photo left out in the sun
And I try to keep myself in lilies and flax seeds
Oh what a folly, fooling just yourself

Sit down and smoke away
I wouldn't knock it till you're in them shoes
I watch as our subtlety blows away
As a blush it gives way to a bruise
But seemly we'd freely make the trade off
A dry rot to take the weight off
And swap the boots for red shoes