Just you and me, babydoll in the back of the death trap in front of the passenger train in-between your rock and my hard place.
Ribcage like the basement heater, you're really just the worst side of paradise, pressing your unreliable heat on my chest.
Whiskey and wine, baby mine, don't taste nearly so good as when I can lick the drops off your chin, fearing I've ruined your chances.
'Cause you touched me, y'know, me, the heaviest hand to hold, the most hopeless burden to carry, and I've never made it any easier for you.
I ain't a poet, really, just a man who forgets what he's gotta say. Maybe one day, when we're old and bitter and eating our dust, you'll read between the lines.