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Words Like Cake (No Good for No One)
What worth are the words of a fat, rolling ball
made out of ennui, disgracing himself,
hating himself and dreading the years
that make up a life that's full of the same.
May they be pretty - say it's the case,
made kind of ugly by slick of the grease,
the green of the tea that he still isn't drinking,
the salt of the sea that he's grown up to fear.
Why is he speaking? Heaving on screen?
Phrases made pointless, like the life that he's leading,
with poignancy lauded on the shoulders of woe
which tends to be truest; the one thing he knows.
