My Heart Is 104 Degrees
There are five missed phone calls from you.
One voice message.
You've even tried to mail me a letter.
Desperation suits you, makes you kinder.
You keep trying to inch your way back in,
thinking you'll find a little shade here,
somewhere cool to rest your head.
But you have picked so much at my roots,
the earth is now dry and barren.
And even if I cried a thousand tears,
baby, these are still drought-like conditions.
Nothing can grow here
anymore.
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