Lucky Lucky

With the shadows of the streetlight on my face,
and his hand under my chin
he asks me where I am,
where I am.
I smile and say I’m right where I can see him best.
I’m underdressed.
I’m sex obsessed.
I wonder if he wants to find me underneath
my daytime screen I keep constructing.
I wonder if it’s cold enough for two kids to get lucky.

He can see it isn’t time for this game,
he pulls me in to hold
and he asks the question,
the question.
I smile but I know deep inside me it’s just not right.
Bitter foresight,
I can’t tonight.
I know that I want it, can’t take it, not yet. No,
not ready but I want it badly.
I wonder when the time will come for two kids to get lucky.

It’s not fair that I can reach you when I shouldn’t.
Why do bad ideas taste so good?
Unfortunately lucky.

You'll find my conscience as dry and flat as a four-leaf shamrock in the bible you'll never read.
Oh my diary, lucky lucky.
You'll find my consciousness out in space, wishing on every star as if it were the first of the night, and falling away with every movement of my lips.
Oh my diary, lucky lucky.
You'll find me missing some piece of me.
I'm not hiding.
You'll find me.
In my diary.
Lucky lucky.

Is it so bad that I want you to grab
my arm and pull me back and
kiss me hard, push me down.
Push me down.
Honestly and suddenly, every inch a liar
Under fire,
never tired.
I know I was damaged, when they raised me to the ground.
Ink stained pages record what struck me
where and when in my life I have chosen to be lucky.

I’m not here to tell you how I got here,
and I wish that I could stay
the night. (the night, the night)
stay the night.
Half a chance and more direct, I wouldn’t have denied
you some of my spine,
the bed where you lie.
I’ll leave my diary open where the pages will sing
about the chances that a bluff means
there’s more than one way to be lucky. To be lucky.

I guess it’s great I’ve self restraint to my chagrin.
I still sometimes regret being good.
Unfortunately lucky.

You'll find my conscience as dry and flat as a four-leaf shamrock in the bible you'll never read.
Oh my diary, lucky lucky.
You'll find my consciousness out in space, wishing on every star as if it were the first of the night, and falling away with every movement of my lips.
Oh my diary, lucky lucky.
You'll find me missing some piece of me.
I'm not hiding.
You'll find me.
In my diary.
Lucky lucky.