She got a pen-pal with a pedigree
Now she can write to him any time
Mechanic pencil lead brittle was she
And when she cracked you could map her design
She was the victim of an obvious crime
She was a person in a paradigm
Her notebooks filled with "to-do" lists
And all her letters, they were swollen and sore
"There's gotta be something better than this--
And don't forget the pharmacy or the store"
You've turned your life into a chore
"There's nothing left of romance," she swore
Drawing the curtains tight
Coughing all through the night
The bed sheets hung in the windows
And the windows hung in my eyes
It was a lame attempt at Saturday night
It was another little thorn in my side
It wasn't anything
Ok? I lied
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