I hate this writing on the wall

As much as worms in rain

But I’ll sit down with you

At the end of March

And I’ll hope for the best

But you’ll jab

You’ll touch my face

You’ll push hard

You’ll connect the dots

You’ll be ugly at least

One good time

Because you can’t help yourself

You’ve just got to iron the crease

And make your point pronounced

That you still put your hands on me

Any time you want to