You’re talking to me and ooh, I love the way you’re talking through me, baby. Everything I’m hearing, everything I say, it’s like you knew me, baby. Ooh, and all declension melted to sweet cliché—I knew you’d ruin me, baby. But I said I’d read your poems and now I rue the day you showed them to me, baby.
Four years talking lying in a standard issue bed, we didn’t doubt it, baby. We would tie the knot, get hitched, we would soon be wed. You’d never be without me, baby. Ooh, you said forever, I trusted what you said, you were devoted to me, baby. I’ll always picture the first time you raised your shirt over your head and showed them to me, baby.
I said that I loved you and I slipped on the ring, you said you loved me, baby. Then doing the dishes, you lost it in the sink. That was pretty clumsy, baby. Ooh, you said your parents would treat me like a king. You’d introduce me, baby. Next morning they dropped over while we were disagreeing. You showed them to me, baby.
We sure weren’t fucking and we sure weren’t friends. It was getting gloomy, baby. So I said divorce me, and that was what you did, in fact, you sued me, baby. Ooh, I got the Porsche but ooh, you got the kids. You hung the jury, baby. Now I get to see them on alternate weekends. You show them to me, baby.