| You said that you would call me
|
| And when you didn’t call me
|
| I gave you up for dead
|
| So I was working on a backbone
|
| And chiseling a tombstone
|
| When you called me up and said
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| Through a wall of heavy breathing
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| You thought it was relieving
|
| To be out on your own
|
| How a voice that used to thrill me
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| Could cut me up and kill me
|
| On the fucking telephone
|
| You did not even send me airborne anyway
|
| Why in the world I hung around it’s hard to say
|
| It was just another Thursday
|
| Like any other Thursday
|
| Except that we were through
|
| We were wading through the concrete
|
| And digging through the scrap heap
|
| Deciding what belonged to who
|
| All the treasure from the good days
|
| Was going through the last phase
|
| Of yours and yours and mine
|
| When something from the yours pile
|
| Shattered on the floor tile
|
| And you went off like Frankenstein
|
| You did not even send me airborne anyway
|
| Why in the world I hung around it’s hard to say
|
| I think it’s clear that I adore you
|
| I didn’t mean to bore you
|
| Or grind it in so deep
|
| I had to put another call in
|
| I didn’t think you’d fall in
|
| With the company you keep
|
| And you tell me that you love me
|
| But you don’t really love me
|
| You remind me every day
|
| When you’re living in a flood plain
|
| It doesn’t take a hard rain
|
| To wash it all away
|
| You did not even send me airborne anyway
|
| Why in the world I hung around it’s hard to say |