Pistachio

Sit down and fire away I know it's tricky when you're feeling low When you feel like your flavour has gone the way Of a pre-shelled pistachio I know you're weighed down And fed up with your heavy boots Laced with melancholy notions all your own I do — like sugar — tend toward the brittle and sticky when spun And I know my demeanour can go the way Of a photo left out in the sun And I try to keep myself in lilies and flax seeds Oh what a folly, fooling just yourself Sit down and smoke away I wouldn't knock it till you're in them shoes I watch as our subtlety blows away As a blush it gives way to a bruise But seemly we'd freely make the trade off A dry rot to take the weight off And swap the boots for red shoes