Feel your stare your absent glare your want of knowing what’s in there,
Know you sought to know me through, I’ve got not much to say to you.
I’m sorry girl but don’t you see these thoughts have got the best of me.
Would rather here some more ’bout you like what it is you want to do.
Tired of the thoughts of me, tired of wanting, needing sleep.
Say to me the things unsaid the things most folks so often dread.
You know the words the rhythmic blues the fear of saying just what is true.
I know you feel it ’cause I do to, I know just what is plaguing you.
But don’t you see the vision’s free the only way to ecstasy.
You hear me spinning words like that, that’s just to get you on your back.
No I’m kidding, joking please. Don’t mean to make you quake you knees.
Ah nice slap that hurt a bit I’m sorry girl I cannot quit.
Sometimes the way these thoughts expel like flagrant breaths through quiets yells.
Baby girl it’s back to you, tell me so I feel them too.
Don’t ask me what, you know the answer, it’s penned inside your heart’s disaster.
Show me pain and misery I’ll show you mine but for a fee.
I swear it tears me up inside, pulls my heart out, leaves me dry.
Please don’t go there, please don’t please, please just see I need to be.
Not quite trying, nothing cares, here’s the secret I’d like to share –
Hold your moans your throbbing chest, you cannot let me get the best.
Oh quit trying to play me please it’s all a game until you weep.
Sorry girl, you have to know, the thoughts own me I have to go.
– Thomas M. Watt