| On the vermont transit bus I leaned my arm into alittle chink of sun,
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| Going somewhere older than I was,
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| Strapped into something tight, keeping me small.
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| I dug into you like rock climbing;
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| Too scared of coming down,
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| Too scared of going up,
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| Too scared of rockface.
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| I shouldve split my sides or spilled my guts or hit you or something,
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| But I was good, and your fathers little pancakes
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| So round and perfect and me sitting up too straight,
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| Laughing in wrong places, kissing you,
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| Kissing up, kissing too soon.
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| When the cock crows
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| When the morning comes where will I go?
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| When the cock crows
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| When the love is gone where will I go?
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| And when you got me pregnant I stopped the party and
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| I stopped the typewriter and I stopped your dumb ball game in the red barn and i Stopped your father and bled instead.
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| And I felt the lie — something sticky on the inside,
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| A bitter wind in my throat,
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| Stopping me wanting,
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| In my stomach, in my head and you said
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| Sugar sugar, you couldnt come come
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| Sugar sugar, without your mother
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| Sugar sugar, you couldnt taste it Sugar sugar, in my throat.
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| When the cock crows
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| When the morning comes where will I go?
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| When the cock crows
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| When the love is gone where will I go? |