I know I shouldn’t assume
that you wrote that song about me
the way I shouldn’t complain
with all your lights around me.

And I know I shouldn’t worry
when you stay out too late
the way I shouldn’t nag
about the food on your plate

Well maybe this is different
is it ever all the same?
Well maybe you should leave
the same way that you came

When all we built has crumbled
and all we cooked has turn stale
I hope someone’s around
to listen to your tale.

It’s a tale of heartbreak
which would sing me to sleep.
We would awake in the morning
to all you can eat.

It’s a tale of heartbreak
that our children will enjoy.
A story with no title,
from the state of Illinois.