Poor Me

Rest on my laurels, some wit and awful pity sustain me
Memories leak like a sieve and fuel this fire, its heavy roar defies me
Let’s not talk in vain about the weather
Let’s take my tired soul off of its tether
Poor me
Poor, poor me
Poor me
Poor, poor me
I can’t reach the ends of this, if I did then it would be the end of me
Need to feign infatuation, stoke the coals of curiosity and longing
We’ll talk in vain about the weather
Just take my tired soul off of its tether
I need the glory with lights aglow around me
My halo shining brightly in tribute to myself
I can’t have pity on me so tell me another story
And I’ll accept gladly and thank you for the help
Poor me
Poor, poor me
Poor me
Poor, poor me