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.