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Crying Lightning

Outside the cafe by the cracker factory
You were practicing a magic trick.
And my thoughts got rude, as you talked and chewed
On the last of your pick and mix.

You said: "You're mistaken if you're thinking that I haven't been called cold before"
As you bit into your strawberry lace
And then offered me your attention in the form of a gobstopper.
It's all you had left and it was going to waste.

Your pastimes consisted of the strange
And twisted and deranged
And I love that little game you had called Crying Lightning
And how you liked to aggravate the ice-cream man on rainy afternoons.

The next time that I caught my own reflection it was on its way to meet you
Thinking of excuses to postpone.
You never looked like yourself from the side but your profile could not hide
The fact you knew I was approaching your throne.

With folded arms you occupied the bench like a toothache,
Stood and puffed your chest out like you'd never lost a war.
Although I tried so not to suffer the indignity of a reaction
There was no cracks to grasp or gaps to claw.

And your pastimes consisted of the strange
And twisted and deranged
And I hate that little game you had called Crying Lightning
And how you liked to aggravate the icky man on rainy afternoons.

Uninviting
But not half as impossible as everyone assumes–
You are Crying Lightning

Your pastimes consisted of the strange
Twisted and deranged
And I hate that little game you had called Crying Lightning.

Your pastimes, consisted of the strange
And twisted and deranged
And I hate that little game you had called Crying…

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