Philippe Pinel’s work
Category: Uncategorized
Sitting and smoking in your kitchen
You’re
Way
Too
Handsome to be such a jerk
But you make it work
Yeah, you make it work
I want to
Show you what you’ve been missing
Sitting and smoking in your kitchen
Talk for hours, all I want is to listen
You’re so unaware
Of how I feel
If you found out I’d play it off as no big deal
I’m sick of telling you how sad I am
I want you to put your arms around me
Hug me hello and make me some tea
Decide not to tell me I look pretty
You’re terrible at compliments
Terrified of an audience
But I have been
Waiting
Like, desperately
Play one of your songs for me
Your cats on my lap
Just come back
Let me knock on your door
Walk to Santa Monica to go to the store
Kiss me like that on your bedroom floor
Always leave me wanting more
And go back to hiding from the rest of the world
Even though you’re the coolest guy around
A lullaby (I wonder why)
I wrote a poem titled “Cradle” for a boy who never read it
I don’t think I wrote it specifically for him, though
I did it for me
So it didn’t feel like a punch to the gut
So much
As when he did other things
I won’t mention
Did I get your attention
Somebody hit my car and the alarm’s ringing
The neighbors are peering out their windows waiting for it to end
Oh I love it when someone makes the rules bend
I’m staying in my house
Quiet as a mouse
That alarm ringing to me is like a lullaby
Every weekend I have a choice
To distract from all the noise
Hit up the worst possible boy
I’m weak
We barely speak
It’s been a week
Somebody shouts “turn that off!”
I can’t get it to stop
I can’t get it to stop
I can’t get it to stop
I’m weak
Irrational (cradle)
A puff of air to the eye
Will elicit a blink
I’m craving you, I think
Regretting it
Not letting it
Get
Me
Down
I’m your angel, turn me around
Make all of my evils casual
You know you want to throw me to the ground
And suffocate me
It wouldn’t be irrational
For you
My dream
Underneath the stars forever
I sing
To you
In
My
Sleep
Queen of parliaments
At this rate
We’re going down
You lost me and I will never be found
I’m taking trips to Venice
Getting trashed in clubs
Sick of being in love
Swimming in a rosy bathtub
Filled with water
Water
Gently
Slowly
Becoming myself
Not a strange, rancid guest
It’s tough for me to digest
That I can’t even get pity
But I thought I was pretty
The alleyway’s gritty
You found me at last
With my Parliaments
I caved, I guess
I think you bought me this dress
That’s right, you bought me this dress
Light this for me, be my guest
Inside
You’ll always be a mess
You heard it from the best