The Trouble With Poets (Mulvey Peter)

The trouble with poets is they talk too much They tell us it hurts them a little more And we cannot tell if they make this up We've never stood in their shoes, in skins, in their heads, on their shores The trouble with you is you drive me nuts I cannot tell what's behind your smile What can we find just to lift us up Just for tonight, for a time, for the sake us of all for awhile I know it's only trouble I know it makes us real I wish that peace of mind was something I could steal The trouble with shoes is they come untied You might take a fall down the stairs And a poet might come along and say,