| The phone slips from a loose grip
|
| Words were missed then, some apology
|
| «I didn’t want to tell you this
|
| No, it’s just some guy she’s been hanging out with
|
| I don’t know, the past couple weeks I guess»
|
| Well, thank you and hang up the phone
|
| Let the funeral start, hear the casket close
|
| Let’s pin split-black ribbon to your overcoat
|
| Well, laughter pours from under doors
|
| In this house, I don’t understand that sound no more
|
| It seems artificial, like a TV set
|
| Well, haligh, haligh, a lie, haligh
|
| This weight it must be satisfied
|
| You offer only one reply
|
| You know not what you do
|
| But you tear and tear your hair from roots
|
| From that same head you have twice removed now
|
| A lock of hair you said would prove
|
| Our love would never die
|
| Well, ha ha ha
|
| I remember everything
|
| The words we spoke on freezing South Street
|
| And all those mornings watching you get ready for school
|
| You combed your hair inside that mirror
|
| The one you painted blue and glued with jewelry tears
|
| Something about those bright colors
|
| Would always make you feel better
|
| But now we speak with ruined tongues
|
| And the words we say aren’t meant for anyone
|
| It’s just a mumbled sentence to a passing acquaintance
|
| But there was once you
|
| You said you hate my suffering
|
| And you understood
|
| And you’d take care of me
|
| You’d always be there
|
| Well where are you now?
|
| Haligh, haligh, a lie, haligh
|
| The plans were never finalized
|
| But left to hang like yarn and twine
|
| Dangling before my eyes
|
| As you tear and tear your hair from roots
|
| From that same head you have twice removed now
|
| A lock of hair you said would prove
|
| Our love would never die
|
| And I sing and sing of awful things
|
| The pleasure that my sadness brings
|
| As my fingers press onto the strings
|
| In yet another clumsy chord
|
| Haligh, haligh, an awful lie
|
| This weight will now be satisfied
|
| I’m gonna give you only one reply
|
| I know not who I am
|
| But I talk in the mirror
|
| To the stranger that appears
|
| Our conversations are circles
|
| Always one sided
|
| Nothing is clear
|
| Except we keep coming back
|
| To this meaning that I lack
|
| He says the choices were given
|
| Now you must live them
|
| Or just not live
|
| But do you want that? |