Lying on my back and needing a few hours to myself,
Elliott Smith was singing that familiar line in my ear as he did so often when I reached this same threshold of sadness:

"Dreadful sorry, Clementine" ,
And you seemed to know just how dreadful all of it was to me,
Slipping out of my comfort, which is shaky at best in the eyes of the public,

But the tempo did change, Elliott...

And I confess that I don't think I'm killing her,
She won't let me give her life,
She thinks she's glowing right now...
Does it mean she can't comprehend?

Someone should be ashamed, Elliott.

I'd love to sing into her some life she's yet to discover,
Replace her doubt for continued existence with nothing more but yearning for foreign lands, hand in hand with me,

Yet I digress and can only sigh.