The Survivor

I have a date with time, she's plucking my strings
and making me sing.
Hateful bitch.
I'm not in her league yet she fucks with me,
next to me
She steals the other sock
But only long enough for me to throw
the survivor out.

And she's a gold-digger, one hand
in my back pocket leaving nicotine
prints.
Even though I'm not a smoker,
She takes me to the bar
And makes me write her a song.
Why is time woman?

Because we create life
In the womb we also create her
tick tick tick
Life isn't a date,
Cigarettes,
Love,
Hate,
Finding your father,
Or Jesus.

It's dirty back pockets
Being able to breathe in death,
And survive
To pluck the strings
To lose the sock
tick tock.