One Two Seven

Here's the question, why on a secret phone, you don't hear my request, if there's no case, to your creaking bones, why walk away, you suffer whispers, in hushed magenta tones, yet lightly still trespass, don't blame me, for taking the loans, i'm the one that's steady, why are you like this, flushed as a trombone, to escape their insouciance, your voice sounds great, no one really condones, a quiet line of hate, be careful at inquests, a face blue as bone, unknown bitter cigarettes, you smoke as your own.