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Friday, 5 November 2010

The Prettiest of Roses

I can see it in her eyes and I can feel it on her skin
She's sweating out the love and everything
She feels just like a paperboy dumping all his rounds
She feels just like a circus without the clowns
And I ain't supposed to know
But she's a blood-trail to a body in the snow

She sits there in my shirt putting too much make-up on
And crying to herself she wipes it off
Then she smiles and I smile too because her mirror won't smile back
But it's a smile any reflection would love to have
And I ain't supposed to know
But her tears are like the voices to her mime-show

She stands up on the bed and swings the light-bulb round and round
Laughing about vinyl dying out
Then eyeing-up my records she says, "Can we smash them, please?"
And waltzing over takes my favourite out its sleeve

When she's here it's like I'm here alone
Staring at streetlights from my window
And I ain't supposed to know
But there's broken records all over the road

The prettiest of roses killed by thorns
Strung-up by her own umbilical chord

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