I have a problem with you.
A quarrel to start.
Let’s take it outside.
No really, you righteous pig.
You play the songs that pull at my heartstrings.
And not only do they pull, but they pluck.
What do I look like, a string instrument?
I am not something to be played.
And yet you laugh at my weakness.
I try to change the station,
Find another safe haven.
But just when I’m feeling down,
You play a song that floods me.
And I drown.
Intoxicated by my own demise
You blind me with teary eyes.
And I try to choke out the words,
Familiar lyrics that sing of my own hurt.
You are a jealous one,
Mr. Radio. You choose the songs that
Fit so perfectly into the mold of my life.
You play the ones that just so happen to
Express the emotions that I’m trying to suppress.
I guess I should toughen up.
‘Cause with you I should not expect anything less.