Listen up, I won't sign on the line.
Take a right, keep your lips pursed and do not say good bye.
I would rather be alone tonight.
Come closer. No, enough now - back away.
The other one is telling me to abandon.
Fie, one more time, and my hand waves to the same recurring act.
Line five is about as clear as I get;
It is ne'er quite the dream I hope for.
Homonyms. They're as dull as you are.
My shirt reads out to anyone with an inkling of upright confidence:
Benediction.
I'm not your type girl.
Look at my chest, I'm already telling lies.
I'm the vagabond type.
When the glow of that burning baton smothers, so will you.
Do not get comfortable.
The flat behind my ribs is only for rent.
Thoughts of this one pass through like iambic pentameter.
Beautiful.
