• She was from the Land of Nod.

    Spent most of her time hiding behind the curtains,
    But every couple of blue moons she’d pull her head out
    And sing me sweet, lilting lies in that silky dishrag voice.

    Day finally came when she sang one note a little too high
    And left pieces of me lying all around
    For the buzzards to cut their throats on.

    I took her out into a big pile of matches,
    Tied her up on the ground,
    And lit the whole god damned place up.

    She got to sing one last time.