the lyrics are calling you out by name
and are begging you to come with them-
cry with them,
sympathize with their company.
you tell me all of this,
through a box over a wire.
you tell me all of this,
while you're burning hot your fire.
you explain to me,
how it's all gone to hell,
and you are feeling the heat of it all.

the song, you say.
the boy, the stress
and the need for new
clothes to replace this sour
look hurting it all over your face.

so i say, screw the guy-
he deserves to die
for treating you that way.
so i say, what song hurts you so-
deep into my music library i shall go,
to find it and let it play-
so you wont be hurting alone-
no one should hurt that way,
if hurt at all.

finally, i say- what can i do
about the need for new threads?
well, i cant buy you any-
but i'll give you some of mine instead.

04/29/2003

Author's Note: for caitlin;

Posted on 04/30/2003
Copyright © 2025 Andrew S Adams