Happy Birthday

Sit down, and fire away, I know it's tricky when you're feeling low,
when you feel like your flavour has gone the way of a pre-shelled pistachio
I know you're weighed down,
fed up with your heavy boots laced with melancholy notions all your own.

I do - like sugar- tend toward the brittle and sticky when spun
and I know my demeanor has gone the way of a photo left out in the sun
so I try to keep myself in lilies and flax seeds
and what's the folly of fooling just yourself

Sit down and smoke away, I wouldn't knock it til you're in them shoes
and I know that our subtlety blows away as a blush
it gives way to a bruise but seemly we'd freely pay the trade off,
a dry rot to take the weight off and swap the boots for red shoes.
-Lisa Hannigan