your midas touch on the chevy doors,
november flush and your flannel cure.
this house once made for madhouse,
i made a joke, “well, it's made for me.”
how evergreen of group of friends,
don't think we’ll say that words again.
and soon they have the nerve to,
duck the hall that once we walked to.
one for the money two for the show,
i never was ready so i watch you go.
sometimes you just don't know the answer,
‘till someone on their knees and ask you.
“she would’ve made such a lovely bride,
what a shame she’s fucked in her head,”
they say.
