Poor thing.
I just got to a post from November 27, 2005, when things were not going well at all, and caught myself saying, out loud, “Oh, sweetie.”
To myself.
Because I felt so bad for her.
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- Monday & Tuesday & some of Wednesday
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Since you asked
- with her killer graces
- and her secret places
- that no boy can fill
- with her hands on her hips
- oh, and that smile on her lips
- because she knows that it kills me
- with her soft french cream
- standing in that doorway
- like a dream
- I wish she'd just leave me alone
- but french cream won't soften
- them boots and french kisses
- will not break that heart of stone
- with her long hair falling
- and her eyes that shine
- like the midnight sun
- she's the one
- that thunder in your heart at night
- when you're kneeling in the dark
- it says
- you're never gonna leave her
- but there's this angel in her eyes
- that tells such desperate lies
- and all you wanna do is believe her
- and tonight you'll try
- just one more time
- to leave it all behind
- and to break on through
- oh, she can take you
- but if she wants to break you
- she's gonna find out
- that ain't so easy to do
- and no matter where
- you sleep tonight
- or how far you run
- she's the one
- with just one kiss
- she'll fill these long summer nights
- with her tenderness
- that secret pact you made
- back when her love could save you
- from the bitterness
- she's the one