Roughshod Meandering

Flamenco strings bellow in my ears
As I remember all of those years--
Well, no, I remember shame, distrust
Precipitation, slander, lies and lust
The frozen hand of hidden shame...
That's what I remember of your game.

Idiosyncratic truths burnt on your head
Emphatic that the soothing past shall lay dead
In its grave so cleanly dug
By all the scandal, sex, and drugs
I feel my love begin to drain...
As a consequence of your little game.

The poisoned cups and toxic air that you breathe
Coupled with the coupling you readily receive
Pencil in your persona, quick--
Before they all see through your trick
And then you'll hold yourself in pain...
Only you can see the point of your game.

Ah, but you had it all worked out so nice
Take what you want and ignore my advice
Vice, so tempting, shall be your redoubt
In the face of the traditions you flout
No, I've never been one to be so plain...
But I refuse to play along with your game.