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Saint Christopher Sunday |
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Otherwise unaware |
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That is what she called it |
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She arrived was observed |
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With her clothes in his suitcase |
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Looking suitably world weary |
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As he drove away she came to |
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She sat and she waited |
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He did not telephone |
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Her heart was unbroken |
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She could not let this be known |
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She said she'd throw herself off a bridge |
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He stood and laughed and she walked out again |
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Which was when she wrote me in |
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To her scheme of things |
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She said she'd throw herself off a bridge |
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She said she never did and I asked her why |
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She just shrugged and she sighed and turned her head away |
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She did not say |
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Saint Christopher Sunday |
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Otherwise uneventful |
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Everything never happened |
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To her scheme of things |
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She said she'd throw herself off a bridge |
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He stood and laughed and she never did |
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She telephoned to say |
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That she'd cut her wrists instead |
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She beat the walls with her fists |
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Running red running back again |
