Wait in a smoke-filled motel room;
Paint my nails electric blue.
Shave my legs with your razor.
Write a line or two.
Scratch my skin through your shirt.
Keep on playing our song.
Run my fingers through my hair;
You always liked it long.

Counted my blessings sevenfold,
Swayed on the railroad like a stage.
Made love to the night with your guitar;
While I scrawled across a page.
High on dreams and drugs.
Found a world stowed away.

And baby, you had a bad mouth.
Spoke some very wrong things.
But a warm old soul,
And a heart that was whole,
When you played against those strings.

But now we're both going mad, you and I.
Afraid we can't go on no more.
Told me I was your muse;
Now I'm not so sure.
'Cause you don't play the way you used to,
It's all disrupted cacophony.
And when I sit down to write,
The blank page taunts me.

And the time lulls,
Ages, withers down to unknown.
A dying pulse flittering beneath flesh.
Bruising against bone.
Cuts its way into the darkest corner of my mind.
Wonder if I should head home.

And the candlelight flickers down to metal,
As the rain suffocates the pavement tightly.
Two hours pass so fast,
Each tick feels like a mockery.
Take a pen,
And through this ink,
I see the world in bold,
Our world.
I should've known...