Dancing Tongues

they've got no flavour
they've got no soul
they got no oumf-
they whimper on in a magicless fashion
like it's all been laid before
again and again, word after word
made of magic, every one of them they say
i don't buy much of anything they say
they can throw words like water cascading down rocks in waterfalls
and play on me until i'm red and raw,
but i don't see the magic in it
like a crawling on the skin
they all reek of arrogance with their 'finesse'
and they're dancing, like tongues around the dinner table
slapping away at happy faces, fucking without touching
crying without tears, asking without caring

i'm used to it by now, as sad as it seems
the proverbial fucking that we get everyday
although no actual fucking has been had
lawyers and school teachers alike
they all get theirs,
they slowly push in their throbbing manhood
with their, "how have you been?"
which of course - is just a form of foreplay
after that is when the real fucking begins
"me and Jerry have been holidaying in Peru"
which each word getting closer and closer to the orgasm
and when it's over and done they discard you
like some cheap emotional hooker,

i avoid them now, in bars and cars
and shops and homes, at parties and at all places
whenever i see a good fucking i know what it is
i smile and watch.

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