You said “I think musicians are hot because of how they show emotion when they play”.
And I just kinda sighed and said, “I’m not much of a musician. I’m just an actor.”
Just. A fuckin’. Actor.
Which is why I know exactly how to nod
And exactly what to say
And look into your eyes or look at the table real quick and pretend I’m being bashful.
I know the perfect laugh, the one that’ll make you look at me and wonder
“Are you for real?”
And I look over at you and reply in that DJ EZ Dick, FM Jazz Station voice and say
“Why don’t you pinch me and find out?”
And that pinch turns to a touch
That turns to a caress
That turns to a kiss
That through loosened thoughts you think
“But I promised myself I wouldn’t do this again ‘til I married!” but through loosened lips comes out “I’ve only done this a couple of times, but I wanna do it with you…”
minutes later, after we’re naked and you’re looking up at me from between my legs
and your face is a Jackson Pollock study in white and you’re asking me if that was okay
and I lie through my fucking teeth because you used yours too much and say “Baby, that was the best I ever had.”
Because I’m. A fuckin’. Actor.
Which is when you take me home to meet your parents and your dad receives me like a long lost friend and your mother believes Im the son she wishes she could’ve had.
And I work them in the living room, working them like a sports agent works the parents of a top ten draft pick. Because, baby, you are—you could. Go. Pro.
And after the coffee’s done and off to bed the ygo, I work in you in the dining room,
The kitchen, and your bedroom. On your desk, bent you overw your hope chest where you used to keep your hopes and dreams, and there are dreams in your eyes and hopes escape from your lips in a fountain of sighs, while all MY hopes and dreams are running down your thighs…
I make you feel like my leading lady, like a superstar.
Because I’m. A fuckin’. Actor
And all your friends ask you if know know how lucky you are
To have a guy that looks me like
Talks like me
Moves like me
Fucks like me
They’re all in my fanclub now.
But alas all good things must come to and end and every show’s run must close and this one’s no different’. As I build up to my escape velocity I tell you look baby I gotsta go that it’s not you, it’s me, it’s always me, I’m no good, I’m damaged goods, ya see.
Your family’s disgusted (How could you blow it with this guy?)
Your friends are pissed (Why this guy, this time, why’d you fuck around? You’re such a slut, you’re slime.)
And you sit on your couch switching between
Kleenex and visine
You let your fingers do the walking in the yellow pages look for your friendly neighborhood therapist
When it hits you
It hits you
I say it hits you
Like an 80 proof moment of clarity
You see through my glamour of slick words and depravity
The realization of what I am, and what you were to me
Makes you fall to your knees
And my words haunt you like an October breeze
Long after the credits have rolled the curtains have close, and I’ve made my exit from the stage left door,
“I’m not much of a musician, I’m just an actor.”
Just. A fuckin’. Actor.
And you played the part of my two bit call girl whore.