Lyrics
Blunt guts and cigarette butts
In the coffee cups and beer cans
That I spit out groggily in the morning
Hurl into my trashcan
The landlady upstairs scurried outside the basement door
Knob dropped clattered down stairs
Sighed to myself
Removed the cloth of the typewriter
Keys cold on my fingers
"Hello it's me Margaret and if you must know I am not sober"
When father lies on his deathbed
Will he think of the music we made and the scripts to mend?
Or about how Autumn falls and it might never fall again?
Lift my hand to scratch my head, my scalp is damp and my hair is wet
Grabbed some duct tape to patch the pipes overhead
The vacuous space that the page conveys
Spread words across its surface digging roaches out the ashtray
"I am the woman in the flooded basement
And I don't want to live if it's without you"
How did it all get so frail and frightfully irreversible?
Pretty women don't light their own cigarettes
But here I am
What am I tirelessly working for?