It’s your Sicka Sicka Sista

Knocking at the door

The blonde brunette

With a salamander crawling up her leg

She’s got the tongue of a serpent

And she won’t let me go

 

It’s cold outside

The rain is falling down on us

Free rounds all around

On me and my non-stamped non-delivered bills

 

I’ve been pushed around

Pulled a bit

Haven’t had sex since age seventeen

 

Now I know that you have given me slow roasted salmon

And I know how much you enjoy the dance you dance

But I must tell you

About the something I have for you

Oh Sicka Sicka Sista

 

Now, don’t get me wrong

I’ve learned so much from your conversing thoughts

And I’ve learned to understand the theory of it all

But why must you invade me like a fly trap

I’ll never quite figure it out

 

In the meantime

Dinner at Eight

Set the plates for two

I’ll be dressed in my suit

With my stockings beneath

Or not

 

 

© 2003 David Greg Harth

03.02.06.05:12:49 @ 296 NYC