It was my apology you always wanted, and
after your petty display
of pain and tears
I knew I couldn’t hurt you again
Who could forget the late, late nite
telephone calls
I could hear you screaming
And the sound of your heart breaking
was the sound of my knees shaking
I don’t think I can get rid of you
No matter how repulsive my love is…
you need the feeling of having comfort
And my comfort is that of a grave
So maybe this epitaph will suit you well
“Leave this love and let it rot in hell!”
Because I can’t love you the way she does.
She’s the whore… but to you a dove?
She meant peace, and a sort of purity in your eyes.
But for me… you were willing to die.
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