A Song For Ellie Greenwich

Pressed unto us flesh still sickly sweet

With scents of love but lost of this lust

Exactly what becomes of us

Just like me

They long to see you on your knees

But all these he's into she's

Irreparably slow these hopes we've sewn

And so we forego

What pleasantries we've grown to know

Hand in glove

For lack of the words we called this love

But now they've cynical slurs to define what it was

That we have done

The tone that she chose shows

Mother knows whats become of us

And should I start to show

Well heaven knows we'll soon be sussed

False alarms might I have meant to do you harm

But somehow I found much to distrust

In what once ushered us

Through months of hurried hush