Perched

I would most definitely be texting effortlessly
But the time came when facing the music made me want to
Break dance to France
Do to robot to Woodstock
And do the Bankhead, to well…Bankhead
My fingers walked my walk
E-mail talked my talk
But when it was time for the rubber
To hit the road
I had two flats with one spare
Cause my power is in my hands
Not unlike Sampson and his hair
Delilah got me stuck
And normally I’d fade to black and not run amuck
But I’m sick of laying low
Perched on the ledge of a motto most men live by
Staring at your mothers and daughters
Inevitably chomping at the bit
“Let’s get it”
But I’ll stay perched on the edge
Of what seems to be the norm
And I wait patient while my own
Swoop down and lay waste
To a mass of women
Giving up their class
And I’ll rummage through and find one
Maybe one who got away
Or at least war wounds are few
Until then I’ll resign.
Let the soul of my dormant beast remain perched on that ledge
Cause I’ve seen his potential for laying waste
Let me digress.