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I heard
that you
went out last night,
and you looked beautiful,
just like a bat beneath the moonlight.

I stayed home,
took a Vicodin;

sometimes it's all that I can do
when I think about the president:
How did he become the president?

And I stayed awake
for a day or two;
I thought about the world,
drank gin and watched the news.

And there are some things
I'll never understand:
why a country needs a god,
and a woman needs a man.

And you never right me letters,
and you never sent my sweaters
so I could stay warm
when I was without you;
without you, I don't sleep:
just dream.

And I scratch these words
into a black notebook;
I wrote your name on top,
I knew you'd never look.

And I tried my best
to fight the atmosphere;
to think the happy thoughts
that leave the phone lines clear.

I see
Arizona stars
from here,
but Peter Pan is miles away.

And you never write me letters,
and you never sent my sweaters
so I could stay warm
when I was without you;

without you, I don't have
a place that's
safe from all the monsters
that hide in my head
and sing me to sleep;
sleep.

This is the last straw.

"This is the last straw,"
she said,
"and I won't wait for you forever,
while you run around like JFK;
we watched that poor girl waste the best years of her life;
and I'll be damned if I am going out,
I willl not go out that way."

And you never write me letters
and you never sent my sweaters
so you could stay warm
when I was gone;

without you, I don't have
a place that's
safe from all the monsters
that hide in my head
and keep me 'til dwan;

I think
this is the last straw.