Hold

I don’t have the time of day
to beg for pardon ’til you stay,
to get down on my knees and pray;
for it to rain, just all the same.

I don’t have the trust in you.
You choose comfort, I choose new.
You’ll hear it once, you swear it true:
the sky rains black; you’re sure it’s blue.

It’s just like paint, a blood-red heart,
a colour sample on a chart;
I’ll build an abstract sculpture, craft
it carefully and call it art.

Then, I’ll sell all that I create
and save enough to walk away,
whilst you’re left dripping wet with rain.
Whatever made you think I’d wait?