Monday, 29 August 2011


There's very little to be said
About what goes on inside my head.
What cannot be seen or heard to shout
Is not what I want spread about
It's there, and it's mine, and I want it.
No, you can't have it.

A song, a dance, a mysterious glance
I'll keep you guessing, my mind undressing.
But for every layer you take off
You'll soon learn it's not enough
My thoughts are my own, my precious
You can't have them—so stuff it.

And yet, for lack of curiosity,
I'll feed you more, just to see
If I can get some small reaction
So I can give you some rejection
If you don't want them—
I don't either.