To Sheila

misswallflower:

Let’s get out of this country,
I’ll admit I am bored with me,
I drowned my sorrows and slept around,
When not in body, at least in mind.
We’ll find a cathedral city,
You can convince me I am pretty.

We’ll pick berries and recline,
Let’s hit the road, dear friend of mine,
Wave goodbye to our thankless jobs,
We’ll drive for miles, maybe never turn off.
We’ll find a cathedral city,
You can be handsome, I’ll be pretty.

What does this city have to offer me?
Everyone else thinks it’s the bee’s knees.
What does this city have to offer me?
I just can’t see.