Vegetables

Can you hear the sound of birds and bees entangled
I sting you in the wing you slap me on the stubble
Are we two vending machines sitting around wasting
Waiting for spare change when we should be busy tasting
A little bit a little hint of our own medicine
I could be crying in my coffee you could be barking in the basement
Whining where is Ronald Reagan when you need him
I’d gladly trade my arms for some freedom
You had a learning experience at my own expenses
You ironed out some wrinkles and hammered out some dents
So soon we’ll either be passing through important pregnant portals
Or else we’ll be falling and crashing through our left open windows
You’re an etch-a-sketch with an erasable part
I’m a romantic hopeless with a gloomy guitar
And I faux pas because I’m a faux poet
If there’s a chance at joy I’ll be sure to blow it big time
In this wobbly world chock full of carnivores
Should we consider ourselves lucky we are only vegetables
Who can’t distinguish or decide between fuck and love
And sadly don’t want either nearly bad enough