| 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 |