How often do you stare, how often do you flinch?
Buried in oblivion, these brass tacks you lynch
She laughs with them, very much in sync
And did she feel like water, unruffled on the brink
Wake up to yet another white-bread day
Before you know, they already scraped their way
Jagged despair and the unmistakable charade
You take a fling at her trampled promenade
So tell me now, what is it that you grieve?
She negotiated your looks, that haunting mien
You couldn't string along should they set her free
It brings you back to all those places she could now be
