The starfish are crying
they want you to love me.
If you bend your ear to the ocean floor,
you’ll hear them:
... your love was a voice of serenity ...
And I agree.
I’m sure it was a voice of serenity
who screamed in my face.
It was burned rubber of serenity
that squealed down my driveway.
It was the trust of serenity
which lied to me.
It must have been a love of serenity
who told me they hated me
diminished me to a pile
of sobbing girl on a bathroom floor.
Oh yes, I agree.
Our love was a voice of serenity.
What’s that? The starfish are still crying?
Hand them a hanky and a drink.
That’s all that came of our love:
tears, Kleenex and booze.