Idiot. (I am)

Blurry like a railroad journey
You get down, so
You need the music that enrings
You've got someone in your hand
Another in your mistiness
And several in your open arms
Sometime, sometime

Maybe you’ll pin nothing else on me
I get down sometimes
And I am perforated plenty
It’s you on the train
You don’t know where you’re heading to
Or even where you started out from

Noone ever talks to me like you do
I don’t like what you say, but at least it’s true



Perforated plenty.