I’m supposed to be the still point in the turning of the world
But what if it’s me that’s fucking spinning it?
Using it as an accomplice
An accessory to my disco hit?
Forcing it to dance for me
And make itself look a right tit?
Recently I’ve made it boogie
Until it’s utterly exhausted
Which just makes me slap
All that harder on the whip
Because that little routine
Is all that keeps me grounded
It’s the only thing that distracts me
From the chaos at my fingertips
So if I still the world, what exactly
Will I be left with?
I’ve spun it over work
Over relationships
Over poetry, and study
And music
Spun it over friends, love
And over logic
Spun it over me
Until I’m pleading please
Just do the other number, quick
Then it slips
Breaks its hips
Can’t move an inch
I’m fucking scrambling
This is no iconic Tarentino scene
It’s just a silly girl
That keeps on rambling
Of course I’m no puppet master
And the world’s not my dancer
I’m just searching scapegoats for my stage
I suppose I’ll take the role
Of understudy
And make these movements
Worthy off the page.
By Lyric Deep.
Lyric Deep™ 