I didn't want to tell you
because I know that you are gone,
but I turned on the radio tonight
and I heard your song.
Not the song
of you and me -
that's far too old
(from '83):
the song that made your fingers bleed -
the song you sang with strings and keys.

It reminded me of ways you'd scream -
In times of fear - of ecstasies.
It brought me back to your backseat:
the place we lived in summer, spring.
It wreaked of your apology -
too sweet, too short, too noisy,
and sounded like a false parade -
too hip for love, too dumb to hate.

It taught me that we lived so wrong -
two girls with hopes: lived for a song.
Our 5am's, our autumn split -
too young to live and not forget.
Soaring notes through melodies:
song for a girl who always leaves -
the irony slipped right past me
the day you sang it straight to me,
but I am here and now I see:
it all came true--we end, indeed.