A Thought Comes

Mine is the best definition, I'm fed up with finding the reasons Entropic, perhaps, but I've made worse mistakes As hard as it tries to placate me; antiquated, elated, it wastes me I guess it's a blessing and more of a curse. I'm freezing my ego to please her; she's so much like Paris, I guess then I'll soon be a widower (not that you care) Enough with this scheming of justice; redundancy comes all to easy I guess that it's better it's killing me now. Dreaming of a time when all my problems were defined in terms of evanescent meanings and the girls that me scream, I once wanted to be so electric no one could ignore me Instead, I'm seated in this fucking car, hoping that any thought will come I knew you now, I mused for you No one seemed to mark the day Enough with all these postures, my hands are sore There's no one left to vilify but me.