Sorry.

Your admiration weighs forty pounds per square inch.
So I’m sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have shouldered it at all,
But I can’t stand up under its weight anymore –
I’m gonna have to drop it.

She predicts that you’ll bounce,
But I know you’re made of softer stuff.
You’re the kind that cleaves to the pavement,
And won’t ever let go.

Sorry, sorry
I didn’t know it’d be so heavy.
I’m gonna have to drop it
I’m gonna have to drop you.
Close your eyes.