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She's on his mind, she's on his wall. She's in the |
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corner of his eye. She whispers sweet delerium. He |
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climbs inside and blushes as the crimson tide flows |
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and flushes him away . . . The sheets are stained; |
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alone again and unfulfilled. A cleaning bill. The |
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dream was killed before he kissed her--now he's |
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cursing the alarm. But she teases from the T.V.-- |
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spreas her legs in magazines. She steams his |
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collar, she dusts his shelf, she cuts his hair. She's |
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never there . . . There's just the letter one-way while |
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the ansaphone says "No way!" But he'll search and |
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he'll find her even if he has to tie her down . . . (He'd |
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kiss the ground she walks on . . .) |
