1st Verse: She said, “I gotta go. / Gotta let the waves of my body flow.” / And just like that she was the past and he was alone— / a dial tone fading slow like an old poem, / wondering if without kids it’s still a broken home. / He said, “I know” when she told him. / “Who am I to blow against the window when it’s frozen, / to trace the face that I used to know so well?” / Every single way to leave your lover sucks. Oh well. / “Baby, I am in a slow hell,” / is what he said the next day when he called, got her voicemail. / Stuck in his mind, / imagining other guys, / trying to make her smile, making love on the kitchen tiles. / It drove him wild, got him all riled up, / her gentle touch on the walls in their place said, “You fucked it up.” / ‘Cause that look on her face when she said, “I’ve had enough” / was instructive. / That was goodbye, love.

2nd Verse: "At least a choice is a voice," she said, sick of the silence, so / torn-up inside by their frozen environment. / Pretending without end is exhausting. / Eventually she got frosty with him, / listening to Dylan singing "Don't think twice" every night / after fights / just to spite him / politeness / colliding / with strikes / of pure lightning. / He wasn't frightened, though, / 'cause he was blind to their plight like a fucking bro. / Think about a poem by Plath: laughter absent, / blood spilling in the bathtub, / passion, / "Hills like [White] Elephants" / a tragic attraction, / the magic vanished like the sheen of a drug habit. / She couldn't grab it back, / he didn't notice that / she was only happy when the liquor kicked her on her ass. / The thing is, he only kissed her when something was amiss, / never just 'cause he missed her or felt like it. / She was his, that was it, far as he was concerned, / commitment / with a minimum of effort and work. / She used to be so sure / all his quirks were perks. / But then it turned out he didn't even thirst for her. / Well, there's 50 ways to make a swan song / that'll haunt him through his thick skin when she's long gone. / Rumpelstiltskin, back to talking tough to broads. / His pretty face makes it tough to expect a fraud.