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A staggering figure through the woods,
A single bud in the desert,
Unaccompanied like a lonely prude,
Who sees a glimmer in his dark heart.
A single bud, in the desert
Where there’s no life, for a prude
Who sees a glimmer in his dark heart,
Begins to wish for more than he should.
Where there’s no life for a prude,
Who craves attention, In his heart
Begins to wish for more than he should,
If only the genie would play it’s part.
Who craves attention in his heart?
A makeshift desire, a longing that’s crude,
If only the genie would play it’s part,
Man wouldn’t worry more than he should.
A make shift desire; a longing that’s crude,
Unaccompanied—like a lonely prude,
Man wouldn’t worry more than he should,
A staggering figure through the woods.
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co-written with Dabbie
InkyTots 