Met in a cowboy town. I was a hick.
She was a nobody and both of us were sick.
I was ruined by the road, Bob Dylan and Robert Frank,
out of my mind and ready to rob a bank.
She was so pretty. I thought it was impossible.
Black hair, blue eyes, just out of the hospital.
She untangled her words with her pen and did it well.
We found ourselves a diner and decided to sit a spell.
We kept each other company, locked horns and flirted openly.
Tonight we wouldn't have to be deserted, hopefully.
We told our saddest stories, and set fire to our hearts,
professional players that brought desire to our parts.
The ice got thinner, a couple of sinners dreamin'.
We flexed our thighs and exorcised our inner demons.
It felt like returning to the place of my birth.
Not exactly well off, we fell off the face of the earth.
To hell with society and suitable jobs.
We became seagulls, beautiful slobs.
As soon as we got some money, we started burning it.
Rented a car with no intentions of returning it.
Segment by segment, I got her pregnant a bunch of times
riding on the elevator with John the Revelator.
Invisible girl and the odd man out,
we drove that car into the goddamn ground.
Reoccurring bad dreams, born to be losing.
Eventually the madness was no longer amusing.
I tried to hide and died inside
while she cried and cried and cried and cried.
Nighttime no good, harder to face the day.
Little by little, I watched her beauty waste away.
Strange habits and quirks no longer curious.
Everything she did made me frustrated and furious.
The conversation dried up.
The whole thing teetered from right to the left.
One step out of line became a fight to the death.
Threats and suggestions, aggressions and deceptions,
ifs ands or buts, maybes and no exceptions.
No more reason to laugh. We knew it would die.
It had to. Blue hair, black eyes, goodbye.
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