ode to benny.
"the imperfect".
we'll dance in flowers,
we'll play some oboes;
even though you're allergic,
and neither of us can play a note on those things.
sneezing on flowers,
sournoting on oboes;
we never do anything right
but at least we try.
it sucks, doesn't it? that
we're so interesting,
but neither of us can do one
single
original thing.
we have no talent, but
we have good taste in music
and a healthy love for colors.
we'll shop for clothes,
make fun of AA clerks;
even though you have no style...
but neither do the AA clerks.
shopping for shit,
laughing at red-haired, pubeybearded, purpleskinnyjean clerks;
your clothes are all wrong,
but at least you look better than him.
it sucks doesn't it? that
we're so simple,
but neither one of us could ever say
one
single
normal thing.
we have no expressable poeticness, but
sometimes we do,
and when we do, it's usually beautiful.
we'll cry on mattresses,
we'll explain why stars aren't black;
even though it's an expensive one,
and our reasoning is purely childish.
you crying over my lack of love for you,
and me, for the pain of breaking a heart,
but loving the way that stars are visible
and twinkle happily.
it sucks, doesn't it? that
you love me so much,
but i only love you in one
single
brotherly/sisterly way.
we have no way of making eachother completely happy,
but we still make eachother a good amount of happy,
and we'll never be totally apart.
"jump in the pool" by friendly fires.
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