How can I . . .
tell you that I don't love you
like you
and never will again
Why don't I . . .
just lie down for a bit to
remember
what's left to forget
How could I . . .
even be so dense to think it anyway
to think you liked me
or ever will
perhaps you never will
I'm OK . . .
though you called me a
dirty whore
you deserve what you got
[dinner was served]
but not what you have
Goodnight memories
Wake up clear as crystal
Peachy keen
But will the world be ready
Will it be ready?
for my yesterday today?
