Oh, let’s say you weren’t all the trouble that you are. Let’s pretend to forget the broken cars and totaled hearts. Let’s just say the pain was blameless and it was nobody’s fault. But then it’d be impossible to talk about you at all. You were felonious from loneliness but never got caught, and they won’t print wanted posters, not that that’s not what you want. And the ceiling fan keeps spinning up above the bed you made. If you look at it real quickly you can single out the blades. Oh, oh, oh you ran away from me, me, me, and didn’t say you’d be, be, be, be back again. But I thought I’d wait for the return of the blade.
Oh, I guess I owe you some more charity that that, especially when you stayed up with me when I passed out on the bathmat. You told me your life story and you offered your confession cause you knew that the next morning I would have no recollection. And I’ll bet you think I’m being just a little sentimental for someone who drives around in a Lincoln Continental, but I’m not the owner, it’s a loaner you can drive into the ground. I’ll just stay on the bed you made and watch the ceiling fan spin round and round. Oh, oh, oh you ran away from me, me, me, and didn’t say you’d be, be, be, be back again. You wrapped the grille around a tree, but you gave me back the keys.