Pseudonym Song

She crosses her legs skinny indian style
And flashes with eyelashes a passive-agressive smile.
Pass the pot of coffee. You can hold the cream.
All the clutter in my life is making me mean.
It's making me mean.
It's making me mean.

Two claustrophobic peas in a pod.
Two symbiotic, fumbling, crumbling dirt clods.
Two polar opposites trying to attract.
Two ulcered misfits unable to attack.
Never attacking 'cause they're lacking the necessary backing.

Me and Sue
Sue and me
squinting at each other through our coffee steam
Me and Sue
Sue and me
Pass the pot and hold the cream.
Pass the pot and hold the cream.

She cynical, paranoid and lazy,
another gross product of the airborne '80s.
Spitting out grounds, visceral vowel sounds
she says A-E-I-O you know I'm crazy.
I'm crazy as hell.
And love makes me intolerant as well.
And you makes me intolerant as well.

Her eyes are tied to the tongue of her tennis shoes.
Her eyes seem propped open with toothpicks and screws.
There's a combustible conversation not taking place.
So we're tippy-toe tightroping through time and space.
Space and time.
Mind over matter.
and matter undermined.
Mind over matter.
and matter undermined.

Me and Sue
Sue and me
obscuring our hunger with crumbs and caffeine.
Me and Sue
Sue and me
Pass the pot and hold the cream.
Pass the pot and hold the cream.
Hold that thought.
Let go of me.