When I said I loved you You said you hoped so But I still take you phone calls And once a week I am shot dead From a stolen rifle that was well kept It's small, and it's slow And it stings and I know that I've worked towards this death my whole life Breathe out Collect last thoughts Bleed out Lay down Have another conversation Say "sorry" I feel like Tennessee Williams when I try to explain And you all give me that look One day I won't wait for the drawbridge I'll gun for it anyway