Waist-high to a cricket in the tall grass
You and Julie Ann Fitzpatrick were a match
Made in the attic of your father's flat
Quarter kisses, 'cause love's that cheap
At the age when bravery means stepping on a garden snake
At Kopel Creek just to hear her shriek
You've got the bites and fractured shin to show
She was the best three months you'd ever known
Sweet slang until the massive town bell tolls August closed
The next season, your name weren't more than dirt
She was swept up by Clarence McGee
A beatnik prick, only out for bank and skirt
So you wrote your Uncle Charlie, and for what?
A piece of you'd make in just one month
If you did whatever the hell he does, concrete or street drugs
Would either have been kinder on your nose?
It was the most bullshit you'd ever known
As you were scrounging in the slums
They were already engaged in the capitol, fever and all
The city made her sour as a skunk
Matted in her yellow locks
Were ink and blackberry molasses
And she reeked of drunk
"I caught Clarence half-asleep in the sack
With some slut of a jazz musician, so I hoofed it home
And stumbled to your door to say that to this day
I never saw how much that summer showed
And believe you me, had I had known
I can tell you what I'd say if he proposed, no"
Your leaving learned me to leave you alone