Mar 02, 2005 00:33
She met him a week after you left her
when you tossed out her touch to the garbage collector.
He talked her out of her skirt in his beer-soaked apartment
and then they did all the things
you never said that you wanted.
And the sirens are laughing underneath your skull.
And your thoughts are turning dull, callous and cold.
Yesterday you gave your burden a name.
Yesterday you gave your burden a face.
But your burden looks an awful lot like her.