Phonograph
The woman and her son who have been living with me came back from the hospital after 1 tonight. Her husband and his father passed away and I was the only one here. So of course, i'm going to let you in on a secret. Everything i've been, wished I weren't, and want to be is here in no particular order.
Introducing the Author (I sold my soul to play, I'm still dying for your excuse)...
...the alchemist (you're all either hawks or doves),
the conductor (save me 'fore the ocean salt becomes my marrow),
the ghost (you're a lover not a fighter),
the journalist (but I can't focus, i've been staring at your hips. Your waste is staring at the words written on my face),
the pastor (i'm leaving you with this: Amen. Get out),
the shepherd (you just can't keep your dress on),
the publisher (I'm much too subtle for this),
the illustrator (keep your head above the water),
and
the conversationalist (this whole city's in love).
are going to partake in a counterpoint deul ('til i've worn through the ivory).
Man up.