I can hardly stand the sight of lipstick On the cigarettes there in the ashtray. Lying cold the way you left them, But at least your lips caressed them While you packed. Or the lip print o a half-filled cup Of coffee that you poured And didn't drink. But at least you thought you wanted it Which is so much more than I can say for me.
It's been a good year for the roses Many blooms still linger there. The lawn could stand another mowing It's funny, I don't even care But as you turned and walked away As the door behind you closes The only thing I thought to say Was what a good year for the roses
After three, four years of marriage It's the first time that you haven't made the bed I guess the reason we're not talking, Is there's so little left to say that we haven't said While a million thoughts go racing through my mind I guess I haven't said a word From the bedroom, the familiar sound Of our one baby's crying goes unheard