I’m fairly confident that my heart is in fact an idiot.
My friends tell me to follow it, that it won’t lead me astray,
But boy would I beg to differ; my heart is a drunkard,
And if I heed its word one more time I may never recover.
The last time I succumbed to its siren song,
I wound up drinking malbec wine in a Mexican restaurant at noon.
Not to say the food wasn’t good, but when you play, Volver, Volver
A half dozen times on the barely functioning jukebox,
as you savor the last drops of glass number four,
it’s safe to say you’ve reached the lowest of lows.
At least from there I had nowhere else to go,
but up… until my heart had something else to say.