When the celebration comes
   to an end,
And we both lie
  satisfied,
I start to feel
  three-feet tall,
And you cover up.

I try to take it all in-
    the flies in your bedroom,
    the moon in the window,
    the faces in the pictureframe,
    the woman in your bed

It's all so foreign
   to me now,
Our celebration
   once a year.