After we hung up the phone and after I heard the ghost in your voice singing (its song of wasted abandon of histories of your medicinal haze)
I saw a pile of lavender I had yanked up from the man-made soil in my landscaped yard- another man-made object
Vicodin or Lavender
I want to feed them to the sea (it's a song of reckless abandon of hope and of better days ahead)
But you always find another orange bottle to ease your pain And I always find another field of man-made flowers to take my mind off of letting you go this way.