mr death's blue eyed girl
night falls and she's in the bathroom
again with a pocket of pills and her will
to live faltering or shivering in the corner*

the vintage radio plays and she's
stuck in the sweltering heat alone
in the kitchen, hero left her the victim
and she's bending silver spoons with her mind

saying she knows what he's thinking
a psychic or an unbearable palm reader
and she's suddenly taking off again
perhaps some other guy will pick that will to live up

with his nimble fingers and lovely wrists
she was the victim, but she's feeling lifted
again into small fragile scopes of life