Poor Me - Swingin Utters

Rest on my laurels, some wit and awful pity sustain me

Memories leak like a sieve and fuel this fire, its heavy roar defies me

Let’s not talk in vain about the weather

Let’s take my tired soul off of its tether

Poor me

Poor, poor me

Poor me

Poor, poor me

I can’t reach the ends of this, if I did then it would be the end of me

Need to feign infatuation, stoke the coals of curiosity and longing

We’ll talk in vain about the weather

Just take my tired soul off of its tether

I need the glory with lights aglow around me

My halo shining brightly in tribute to myself

I can’t have pity on me so tell me another story

And I’ll accept gladly and thank you for the help

Poor me

Poor, poor me

Poor me

Poor, poor me