And I was the girl passed out on the stairs
and everyone knew me
in a roundabout way and whispers
went through me like knives, two, three, four
and bright as I was they all saw the blonde head
duck out of windows on sunny Sunday mornings
and cars with no shoes on, and sighed for me
prayed and laughed at me
"do you think that he loves you?
Because he doesn't and won't ever."
And now that I've left
I'm just a face
alone and exhilarated
dreaming of home and yet won't ever go.