She was some form of magic, the mythical child bride. I walked on hot coals to stand by her side. She taught me grand lessons while I was still grieving. Then she filed applications and talked about leaving.
I always read Proust to her 'til I got used to her, then I just sang her Ernie K-Doe. My blood was too red and the wine went to her head and I resigned myself to watching her go.
She stooped to conquer. She showed me pure joy. While she flirted in German I tried to be coy. With all the saints in the family and all the ghosts in the hall and all the savage pastimes that I can recall.
She read Dr. Seuss to me 'til she got used to me, then she sang me Billie Holiday. The wine rushed to her head and my blood was too red and she talked about going away.
I found a hole in my heart where the soul all went. It's easy to love a memory when the romance is spent. All of the God and all the gold, they can't touch the destiny when the dice have been rolled.
Yeah, I always read Proust to her, 'til I got used to her, then I just quoted Spike Jones. The wine went to my head and my blood was still too red. She was leaving, I could feel it in my bones.
She read Dr. Seuss to me, 'til she got used to me, then she quoted Lady Day. The wine was red and the blood rushed to my head and she talked about going away.