It's too bad I don't like you anymore. Yes it's too bad. But my novel is gonna need an evil villain. It's too bad we kinda fell apart. We had somethin' going.
On a wayward sail in the middle of the ocean. Drenched in the sun, drenched in my suntan lotion. Radio cries, still the station dies. The only sound I hear.
Down by the Mississippi, buried in the mud. Is a five page oath and a bottle of wine. It's engraved in steel, it's written in blood. As far as I can tell, the blood is mine.
Strictly Mr. Thompson goes to work everyday. Except Saturdays, Sundays, and national holidays. He leaves at three. He used to leave at four. But the commute over the Altamont.
I'm being hopelessly optimisticyou're an honest crook. The poor reputation your love gets should make you look. It gets pretty ugly. I'm clearly misunderstood.
You call you call. The tvs up the lights are on. You say you say. I miss you how work was today. Youre gone youre gone. Some corporate thing away from home.
I turned on the radio just the other day. I let out a holler, I let out a hey. Something's wrong here, but I've paid my dues. My favorite radio station stopped playing the blues.
He said, "practice Electra. You might need me someday. Though the wind blows your hair, tugs you around. I know you won't blow away". Yes, my name is Electra.
Dawn looked through the wall. Where she saw the end. Then someone shuffled papers. And she returned again. She covered her ears in anger. And stomped out of the door.
If I were a mocking bird. I'd mock you. In soft winds. And silent words. I'd spot you. Like snow blushing in the sunlight. And I'd melt you. Like morning into twilight.
Hello, it's me again. I tried to call you yesterday. I tried a couple times before. But another call got in the way. I think I know that you're at home.
Lately, I watch the coffee perk, give my cup a stir. It looks dire sir, it's a voice I've heard. There is no cure, there are no words, I'm not sure. But it seems like a perfect way to lose me.
Maybe I can't bend all the way. Without breaking slightly. But I tell thee truly I was not born. With the string that winds me tightly. . But I guess bad habits are born.
On my knees. Not that you can help me. I have changed a flat before. And I have gotten dirty. . I ain't no faker. I'm as sweet as I am rotten. I might even laugh at myself.
Can I help it if I think you're evil?. Can you stop it if you really are?. Can you stop me if I think you're perfect?. The echo of an argument dies in the car.
I paced the room, I paced the floor. I heard him calling, I unlocked the door. And he paced the room. With elegance and with distress. And with long strides and i.
Pierre is walking. Under a red umbrella. The clouds look like an animal. Pierre, you feel so big but then so small. Every single time she calls you. .
These walls are 'specially thin. I guess I paid for the room that I'm in. Hear the neighbors fight in the hall. Turn up this song 'til someone bangs on the wall.
It's a hot one, leaning on the wall. Like a monkey practically swinging. From the doorknob. . I am waiting to feel brave. To save face. To step outside all of these holes that you've made.
Two cigarettes glowed on the front porch swing. . The wind picked up and brought her closer to him. His sweet whisper is like a double fudge sundae. And the credits rolled, her sigh had a musical bend.