All Out of Sorts
(with apologies to Air Supply and dirty looks at Atlin Merrick for encouraging this madness)

I'm lying here prone on the white telephone
Puking so hard that it hurts
I still hate you too but oh god! Déjà vu
Dramatic in fits and spurts
I wish that this yellow was a touch less vibrant
Don’t mock all the layers I ate
A kilo of allsorts is a logical choice
When I choose to sublimate, choose to sublimate

[Chorus:]
I'm all out of sorts, I'm so sick of licorice
Five years, one day and two hours ago-sick!
I'm all out of sorts, do you know what I wish
That my consumption’d been less than her-Oh! Ick!

I want you to rub me and call me pet names
Away from this orange green and blue
Four way speculum, maybe just one wine gum
The edges are—Déjà vu!
And what do I say when you call me your love
The pink is still hanging on
You’re extraordinary, the perfect man now for me
Rub don’t pat! I love you, John, love you, John

[Chorus]

Oh, I am now less aggrieved
(I don’t know what that means)
 I am now less aggrieved
(Still don’t know what that means)

[Chorus x3]