So songs of love never were my style.
Sang them once, but they taste like bile.
So why am I singing one
Romantic kings always sang to stars
in whisper tones, on hushed guitars,
but all I know is how to sing
Not Don Quixote. Not Hanuman.
Can’t quell these fires that burn your lawn,
just use them to cook
Don’t have a sword. Don’t own a cape.
My superpower’s my fast escape,
these pencil lines, this pagan faith,
She laughed at things I thought I knew,
philosophy I thought was true,
axioms that taught me how
“Baby what if God’s not home?
Does it mean that we’re alone?
Or does it mean that you and I