Peach, Plum, Pear Owen Pallett

We speak in the store
I'm a sensitive bore
You seem markedly more
And I'm oozing suprise

But it's late in the day
And you're well on your way
What was golden went gray
And I'm suddenly shy

And all the gathering floozies
Afford to be choosy
And all sneezing darkly
In the dimming divide

But I have read the right books
To interpret your looks
You were knocking me down
With the palm of your eye

This is unlike the story
It was written to be
You were riding its back
When it used to ride me

And we were galloping manic
To the mouth of the source
We were swallowing panic
In the face of its force