| Your husband,
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| He drinks like a writer,
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| But he writes like a banker,
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| I hope his pens all run dry.
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| You watch him from your cave in the corner,
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| Full moon eyes flame and flicker,
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| The wild way that I like.
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| From my part,
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| I pretend I don’t notice
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| Dumb friend you’re a poet,
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| And I could do this all night.
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| And I’ll stay like that,
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| Hands locked in my lap,
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| What I want jailed up in my mind,
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| Until I slide to sleep
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| Where you’re waitin' for me,
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| And we do what we want to,
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| And shut ourselves off for the night.
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| Til morning barrels in like a brides maid,
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| Drunk and desperate for her day,
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| Drags me out, picks a fight.
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| And I see I’m alone here
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| Picture frames and a hot plate
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| Stubborn sun spites the hallways
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| Paint chips blink yellow white.
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| And I’m stretching, in the act of forgetting,
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| Bear teeth and blood letting,
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| Signals crossed half my life.
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| And the local grown
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| Sees your notes towards my home,
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| Dreaming fits as we crawl underground,
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| And you’re shedding skin,
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| So I keep what I can.
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| Yeah I fill up my pockets,
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| And stuff all that’s left in my mouth.
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| Now you are a part of me,
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| For as long as I sleep.
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| I could trick myself into a trance,
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| Where were as firm as facts,
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| And I don’t give you back
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| Every morning the sun comes to shuttle you back to your man. |