display | more...

Well it's cold here in Worcester without you these days,
and I'm not writing now to insult or sing praise,
It's just that I gave you a ring the last time
that we met, so I ask you to drop me a line,
just a letter to fold 'round my estranged amulet-

And...It's true that I found it was too hard to get
rid of you in my head as you sidewalked away,
but I know California, the desert, LA
is a home for you now, full of women and sun.

But the place that you left me was crueler than "Hun,
where's your jacket, it's chilly," 'cause I'm always inside
of a house filled with ghosts of the dreams that we lied
into life for each other, to try to stand tall,
though we really had no good connection at all-

These wires are all faulty and the lights always short,
so I lit a room with candles as one last resort
Where your picture is grinning from out of my head
then it falls on the mirror that faces my bed.

I just pull up the covers of love that got lost so to
fend off the demons and keep in the frost
on the walls of my heart since you found a new home.

With such a bright paint job, we forgot all the foam,
so this house is a prison of anticipation.
Next time I'll remember to bring insulation.

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.