Don’t Tell Me To Pack My Bags

Posted on Love

Don’t tell me to pack my bags –
The Hermes reminds me of you –
It’s battered, it’s ripped and it sags;
But they’re the good times we often had
Stains of spilt wines, and burns of dropped fags,
They keep you alive in my mind.
So don’t tell me to pack my bags dear
Things aren’t as bad as they always appear.

Don’t tell me to hand back the key
It’s worn and it fits like a glove:
‘If lost then return to addressee’
Is no epitaph for my fractured love…
I can’t be that nobody….
The lover you regretted you had.
So don’t tell me to hand back the key dear
You’re creating a bad atmosphere.

Don’t tell me you’ll hand back my ring
It was meant to be for life
Don’t pretend it doesn’t mean anything;
It’s the circle of life with my wife –
This wasn’t some licentious fling
But you’re throwing our past in the bin.
So don’t tell me you’ll hand back my ring dear
I’m trying to be sincere.

Don’t tell me our love is a memory
That your bed is now closed to me
I’m your devotee, your adoree,
Who hungers so very much
….for your sensuality…
Oh! I ache for your musk and your touch.
So don’t tell me it’s a memory my dear
We haven’t reached that final frontier.

Don’t tell me, my belle, to go to hell!
Your anger is a fearful beast;
I’m walking on one big eggshell
Created of issues wrongly released;
Dreamt up in your own citadel
To disparage the one you love least.
So don’t tell me to go to hell dear
Heaven knows what’s going on here.

Oh… dear… …things aren’t what they appear… …it’s all insincere… love is a veneer… …so let me be clear… …at what’s going on here… …dear…

Don’t tell me you ever loved me
You’re a selfish frigid bitch –
You only loved my money
With your fatuous desire to be rich;
I hate your loveless envy
And it’s you that I want to ditch!
So don’t say you ever loved me dear…
As my money and I disappear…