first you dropped my case, then I dropped my keys
you couldn't stand the hate, I couldn't bear the heat
when you left the place, I tried to call the police
you called it twist of fate, always land on your feet

but you don't know what it's like to be alone in the house
and be waiting for some kind of sign
like short-sighted lovers making long-distance vows
we went wrong somewhere along the line

though I can't explain, this feeling of spleen
I tried to be brave, when you remained so brief
like a rat that fleets, when it's food deflates
you took back your sheets and took away your shades

I don't feel so great, not because he's Greek
wouldn't be more ok if he were Yankee
and if my hands shake, it's not because you're chic
you say that I'm insane but you are obscene




(c) Brett Beauling - Fozzie Balls