In a Website
Please Tell My Boss
I'll Be Late to Work
You’ve got fingers made of fishhooks
They’ve dug into my skin
And yet you’ve got me thinking it’s you who’s let me in.
If I move they sink in deeper
Keeping me in place
How could I want to leave with that kind smile on your face?
They’ll shred me if I pull away
But if I manage to get free
Then somehow you’ll convince me that I’ve hurt you more than me.
I had to leave the country but I left her and I made it out