You were Home Of The Brave.
I was Desperately Seeking Susan.
You were fine art,
I was so commercial.
Amadeus was your selection,
Purple Rain was mine.
You introduced me to The B-52s.
I turned you on to The Moody Blues.
You were so full of expression.
I wanted to make an impression.
Happy Birthday Tina Turner, I whispered into the phone,
Chaka Khan is calling.
I barely kissed your lips.
I knew.
I love you, I said.
You too, you said, but let’s take it slow.
You were so quick to lead;
I was so quick to follow.
You said don’t get heavy.
I did.
You wanted me to make the first move.
I wish I would have.
Lean on me, you sang. I tried.
It’s just you, you sang. I believed you.
I would have married you;
You just wanted a hot summer fling.
You found yourself dancing in the Shadows at Midnight.
I lost myself confessing at High Noon on Sunday.
My mother blamed you,
Your father blamed me.
How could someone so carefree become so angry?
How could someone so full-of-life become so lethargic?
Here’s the pill, the doctor said.
I swallowed.
ECT, he kept insisting.
I kept refusing.
I wanted to remember everything about you.
You wanted to forget you ever knew me.
You were all over town,
I was in isolation.
The nurse threw my robe belt in at me;
I tied it around my neck.
I would have given my soul for you.
You didn’t even come to see about me.
I cried and cried and cried until I couldn’t.
I begged for you to call but you wouldn’t.
I searched everywhere for you.
You were nowhere to be found.
I almost died for you.
I guess you’re almost forgiven.
