Never smile at a crocodile
No you can't get friendly with a crocodile
Don't be taken in by his welcome grin
He's imagining how well you'd fit within his skin
It's the ones that smile first. Touch first. Laugh first. Open you up. Ask you to be yourself. They reach into your bread box, butter your toast then leave you with a load of crumbs to clean up after you've eaten up their charm. They write verses to ode your beauty, dance circles around your heart and offer the world. These scaly crocs seem docile. Easy. Uninterested in the bite. But once you're in their reach; they are predator, you are prey. You've been measured up and down and reduced to a mere lunch.
Never smile at a crocodile
Never tip your hat and stop to talk a while
Never run, walk away
Say good night, not good day
Even if you're a cynical, hard, unyielding relationship phobe, even if you don a hook and are prepared with ammo, you're no match for him. Don't trust your guard. Avoid relying on your supposed self-control. Your weapons are obsolete. It's code red once he holds you in his grip. You've lost the battle and surrender the war. He comes fully equipped with technique. Strategy. Aged logic. He's plotted your coordinates and senses your fear. His reinforcements come parading on white horses - princes with swords and words to back you into a stalemate. At every angle, each attempt out, your mate's been checked.
Clear the aisle
And never smile
At mister crocodile
Take heed. Step away from the smile. You'll know him when you see him. That wrench will turn when he stands there oh-so-cavalier. His shirt pressed, his pants creased, his arms open for the chomp. Don't give in, don't give a second glance. Be brave in your walk and confident in your rejection. You needn't show your fear. See him disappear in your peripheral as you march to safety.
You may very well be well bred
Lots of etiquette in your head
But there's always some special case
Time and place
To forget etiquette
He'll stammer his words into a persuasion of sorts as you bypass his trap. He'll offend your reasoning and call you a chicken. Remember, as you boast rudely and walk assured, you are a chicken. You are afraid. You are doing what's best for you. After all, a chicken doesn't stand a chance against a crocodile. He'll be hurt and blurt accusations of your pride. Your ego. Your inability to look him in the eye and take a risk. Manage yourself and let him disappear into your past, let him fade into the distance. Because you can walk away. You don't have to run. Crocs don't chase. They arouse your curiosity and fuse your fear into an obsessive dance with death. But you're only a speck on the map of chickens before you. That turned around and looked once more. That walked to his grin. That thought they could run away. That waved the white flag into a jaw-clenched affair.
So be sure. Be ready. Take the high road and save your self. Forget the formality of saying "no, thanks" and invest in the market of getting the hell out of there. Because you're weaker than you thought. And he's stronger than his grin will ever show. Stronger, more proud, a chief sadist. Stay away from the aforementioned species, and you will be fine. You'll be better. You'll survive.
I'm just about as smart as I look.