The juggernauts are coming, oh my gosh!

I should have bought you flowers
But I gave them to another woman
It would be nice to talk for hours
But I prefer a nice soft bossom

If you asked of what am I made
I would say the salt
That drove the slave trade
Because a slave is what I feel I am
To the idea of being a man
I am fed up
With these anachronistic hubris
Of the unplanned
The self entitled being
That loves
Then loses feeling
Quicker than quick sand
And I am falling
I do not deny it into a deep dark hole
Where my future's wishes don't match up
To what will make me whole

But I see it is only excess hubris
That has disillusioned me so far
When I knew really
It was under another use of 'Us'
That they named a falling star

Only the kettle kept boiling over and the river over spilt
The kittens in the bags were no well man's pursuit