No lack of alibis
Your knack for the spectacular is still intact
I like the tone of it
It rings sincere and pretty near succeeds
It's just the narrative
Is like a sieve and cloudy as a cataract
There's not a trace of honesty so face the fact
It needs ... work
You dodge emotion, dear
Your logic's unconvincing as it strains to please
Unlike the books you write
This plot is quite contrived the way it reads
It's far too obvious
And filled with flaws and gross implausibilities
Excepting for the part about the broken keys
It needs work
Your fiction always had
A little grit in it
A little heart in it
A little wit in it
It used to be so clear
That there was art in it
If you had written it
So must you go and spit in it
And come to think of it
Your writing always mirrors our relationship
With dangers cropping up
And sweet young strangers popping up like weeds
So if you wish official pardoning
You better do a little gardening
Ya know ya needn't be so gen'rous with your seeds
Your fertile lies don't fertilize
It needs work
We used to sit in bed and read each draft out loud
We'd play each part and talk the story through
Remember all we said and how we laughed out loud
Now take a closer look at you
I oughta throw the book at you
You had to ruin it
This plot has got a lot of deja vu in it
Familiarity
And in this case we both know what that breeds
But call me anytime you seem yourself
When you've decided to redeem yourself
When you discover where this self deception leads
I'd rather see you shoot yourself
Than watch you prostitute yourself
Your new routine is too routine
It needs work