To my favourite daughter

Finger wet, finger dry
Strike me dumb if I tell a lie
I will always
I will never

I wish I could
I wish I had
Strike me deaf to your goodbye
Cross my heart and hope to die



I'm still embracing pretentious twattishness but my cold fingers are slipping. I don't know how much longer I can carry on. It'll be cats with knives or balloon people tomorrow.