One voice inside to another says
"I've got more problems than us both".
But that's so sick to call life a problem
that has its needs and needs to be solved.
She thinks it over while her satin black mane
waves perfectly over one eye.
She sits cross-legged doubled over
as if she's clutching a child waiting to die.
Is it worth it?
If you want to find peace
at the end of the road
I promise I'll be there.
Her heart has no bearing a weak sense of directions
and things take too long to register.
Listen to regrets, at long last she's released his love.
And the front door haunts her.
If you want to find me
at the end of the road
I promise I'll be there.