Matchbook Diaries - Cecil Otter

I love the way you took a second look into that book of matches

Stamped with overlapping names and numbers, you mistook for matches

You mistook for matches made in heaven’s workshop

Squatting on that crooked mattress, where you chose to curse god

For the first time, with a dirty slob, with the worst wine aftertaste

He said you did a clerk’s job, while he jerks his and masturbates

Now let that sink in. (Baby, what you been drinking?

Come on, you gotta start thinking.)

You should have known that bastard dates the first mod squad model rep

To cast her mating skills into his fishy bowl of masticating lady thrills

After debating with his trainees, he’ll say something fascinating

Like, «Baby, chill, Kodak moments are fastly fading.»

Then he’ll bravely swill the last of his remaining shady pills

(It's that killed your baby!)

And he said maybe we’ll meet again most likely under the sheets

And then we’ll host a nightly hunter meets the hunted

And then he cheats again, and your family trees bend over to lend a hand

You’ve never been a fan of being a charity case;

you don’t want no minute man

(What?)

But you want his burial place

If life gives you sour grapes, then make cheap wine

Now how’s that parody taste?

It’s guaranteed to make of a daring team with a therapy face

Play 'Eternal Flame' on repeat until their stereo breaks

Her posture was that of Marilyn Monroe

Standing above a street vent, (Happy birthday, Mr. President)

Except she wasn’t smiling, no white dresses.

(Not impressive)

She cradled her stomach, and I could tell she was in pain

She grabbed for those matches, (Can we talk?)

And I wanted to stop her, but she was

She said don’t bother me;

I’ll lose the truth

As the man who fathered me blew it

Walking me through his two-fisted trail of fallen trees

Until I’m probably toothless

Besides you’re just a primate and talking to me is useless

I said you’re not biting;

you’re barking and it’s music to my ears

(I don’t want to admit it You don’t know me!

You don’t know what I did!

How am I to get around?

I used to be the shit)

I tore the wiring from her forklift

She dropped dead gorgeous in her four seasons porch

With her lips pressed against the cordless phone

It was off the hook, you get it?

(Yeah, haha-- That’s funny shit-- Is that a joke? Yeah, yeah.)

They call this girl but-her-nose, everything looks good

But her nose is filled with coke, she just won’t admit it

(Hahaha. Get it? Yeah, yup. That’s like fucking -- yes, I do get it.

Good, that’s good.)

You struck a hand full of matches at the same time

And couldn’t figure out which stick to draw first

Each one got a little closer to you and it hurts now

Since that draft pick got worse

You got the first degree from each one at the same time

They want the news and the weather

Instead you led them down the date line

And now your sticky fingers fuse together

Back in the days when she was a teenager

Before she struck those matches and before she went through labor

You could find this underager double fistin' Mother Nature

Moms used to say it reminded her of her

Savior

If it hadn’t been for that, you know, volley of ideas

And sometimes butting of heads together

It wouldn’t have come out as good as it did

Because it builds up anger actually

And you--

You get more out of yourself

And he knew that

And he knew he was getting more out of me by doing that

So it was sort of like a game--