Make Sense

I want it all to make sense
but lemme tell ya somethin’ fella
it’s a poor defense
straddlin’ a pressed-spear fence
would you take me as you see me
could I roll with you mista please [say I do]
see I got this broken-heart disease
the past five years been killin’ me
I talked for hours
at your grave with flowers
a memory I don’t mind
but it matters which kind
up at seven out by six at work by five
in another suit and tie beehive
where the buzzin’ be live
tonight we’ll remake the bed
get dressed then wash your head
if you follow me to the east-side of eternity
I bought us a trendy turn-key
ain’t scared of another affair
it’s the yellow-page glaze
when it’s hard to behave as you’d have me
but what the hell sam
we’re already here
with flowers in our hair
let’s see where tonight’s tale begins…