P.S. Eliot
Cross Eyed
Your eyes go crossed eyes like mine
You'll regret that when you're older
Carefully sutured pride
And a chip on your shoulder
And i think maybe i'm better
I think may be i'm better off
My wit goes limp again
Maybe there's something about you
We circle a sanctum
And avoid the lucent break through
Take planes and trains and 95 straight up
Subdued sentiment
Planes and trains and 95 straight up
This just feels fitting
I cross out these memories of sanctity
I cross out this memories, it's a funny thing
I choose this immunity that consumes me
I cross out this memories, it's a funny thing

Your eyes open wide
In an open-handed effort
Our strong minds can collide
Without this vigilance we exert
And i think maybe i'm content
I think maybe i'm complacent
I cross out these memories of sanctity
I cross out this memories, it's a funny thing
I choose this immunity that consumes me
I cross out this memories, it's a funny thing