It Wasn't Me, screams one of us, It Was You
and I look out into Space while we both get out of my Car (a windswept day in 1985)
Tomorrow, you whisper, No, I Says, Goodbye
The death of this will not be A Slowdance, With your lazy hands around My Crushed guts
Bullets! I hear inside my ears Bullets! I smell under my nose Bullets! I feel on my fingers
She (the one in the backseat) breathes a high Sawing sound, and I swear You Do It too
Why Doesn't Anybody Ask whether I want to be called Alice?
The Night grinds on, Everybody stinks more, even with the windows Rolled down, Overheated and On drugs, Me scattering about into the wind
Be careful! That Kind of thing leads to killing Grandmas!
I hear you say you feel your Legs rolling about on their Feet
The Pitcher I took uh you was no good (she slurs from the backseat) I Was on a Drunk
Nobody's slept since The Garage Sale, when you lost your gig Painting cars
All of a sudden it Comes Over us And we Say Hi! to it
4 people, two Days on it, a car in a parking lot at night, Figure It Out
The Ennablers in our lives (not simply each other) have hearts
That were clearly Made to Be Broken
All of a sudden its Coming On Too Strong and we say Whoa!
You look out into Space while we both get back into my Car: the Times 2 minutes to 4