The streets are deserted.

The night is cold and wet.

The light turns uselessly to red,

another empty threat.

I’m bringing back your old raincoat:

I haven’t used it yet.
 


I don’t want any more questions—
I told you I’m decided.

Every answer you’ve ever needed from me

I’ve already provided.

You step out the door, troops in a line,

come back home at night, divided.
 


I was wrong,

got little else to report.

I exhausted all my options,

used up my last resort.

I tried my best, I stuck my neck out:

I fell short.
 


Well, there’s a vice grip on my temples.

There’s a beam in my eye.

The whole goddamn town smells like burning rubber.

There’s something whining in the sky.

I don’t care if you’ve got company—

I’m coming by.