When we met in the kitchen it was like kissing a statue
Then I knew that I could be a lesser Pygmalion
Although the dream was sad it was nice to see you again
In a way before we were close enough to be enemies, my friend

Murdered like a prop
Murdered like a prop again

It is so circuitous and there is no literal terminal station
I know that he exists because I saw the Christmas gong that he gave you

Hung adult burnt white from youthful
Internecine larks
I pull the burs from your fur coat
So happy I could die
You knowing that it's just a game takes all of the fun away
Oh, the gamelan blows
Did you go without saying goodbye?

Murdered like a prop
Murdered like a prop again

The tyranny of no ideas while flower in Venn diagram palsy
Glass-eyed miscarriage and the stench of May queens in February effluvia