This is going to be sung (well, it's on the brink of rapping) at lightning pace, with many aggressive upbeats. It will be accompanied by an equally aggressive, gnarly guitar.
I'm least happy with the verse starting with "Strapped to the railway tracks...".
I'm definitely looking for criticism and suggestions, as I've been contending with this one for a while.
When I discovered you one night, you were breathing right up my alley;
I came, I saw, you conquered.
I thought I must be at the bottom of too-good-to-be-true valley;
For the first time in a long while I went bonkers.
I'd located something more than a one-shot-wonder distraction;
Standing there you must've been an angel.
When it came to the surface that you're the 'x' in my equation
I knew it for a fact I couldn't say no.
And I swore I'd seen you fleeing
The very scene of a crime
Where neither of us was a victim.
Seeing the very place I hit him
A bruise hadn't the time to form.
I'd hoped you heard me speaking
Of all the different things
I hoped to get from our meeting
Which is taking place where you used to kiss him;
A man we'll refer to as "ex".
Strapped to the railway tracks, I was completely at your mercy.
I'd hoped for my life you'd stop to pick me up.
And you did more, but I had to hope that you thought that you had earned me
In order to make the rumour mill stop.
Was it coincidence there was a ramp just right next to the roadblock;
Simultaneous good fortune and a death wish?
Even men with targets on their backs who claim descent from the flock
Know that airtime never equates to a scratched itch.
And I swore I'd seen you fleeing
The very scene of a crime
Where neither of us was a victim.
Seeing the very place I hit him
A bruise hadn't the time to form.
I'd hoped you heard me speaking
Of all the different things
I hoped to get from our meeting
Which is taking place where you used to kiss him;
A man we'll refer to as "ex".
And the road gets darker
With every stop.
Don't drive tired even
When you're at the top
Of your game;
Could put a dent in your name
Decapitate your fame
Just to make it to the meeting place
On time. "Oh what a waste," they'll say,
"What waste of an enquiry." until they
Pinpoint, plant there some book of shame;
"What fucking shame?" they'll hear from my grave.
