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.
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