You are an industrial love song
Repetitive and danceable
The words are simple
The beat’s predictable
It’s driving and sensual
Made for a dance floor

I’m a slow aching melody
You sit and drink whiskey to
The beat is simple
The words are styled
Into a play
You sit
You lose yourself
I’m not the kind of music you like to listen to
Because it doesn’t have enough energy
For you it’s a generic kind of love
You don’t really hear and shrug to
“It’s not really my thing”
For the rest of my construction
I’m almost perfect
Elegant and tasteful
Except for my slow beat
Because you want to hear the monotone
Of an industrial love song
I swallow the bitter taste of my own reflection
Hold myself in a hug maybe cry till I sleep
While you’ll sit up and watch TV
I’m almost perfect
Except for my little flaw
I’m not an industrial love song