You put on your raincoat
|
¡®Cause it looks like it just might today
|
And you grab your keys
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And you¡¯re out the door before you know where you¡¯re going
|
And if blame, as they say, is for God and little kids
|
Then you¡¯re deserving of praise or a slap on the wrist
|
¡®Cause you can¡¯t help but blame yourself
|
For your long face
|
Not a day passes that you don¡¯t fold your hands
|
And ask St. Francis to find the lust for life
|
That you lost when she left with your tongue
|
And your last breath
|
Well, she¡¯s a thief with an eye for nice things
|
Not a day passes that you don¡¯t close your eyes
|
And ask St. Francis to find the love of your life
|
That you lost when she left
|
You dumb fuck, your life¡¯s a mess
|
Without her to tell you what to say
|
Or when to breathe
|
Or what you¡¯ll need where you¡¯re going
|
|
-----------------
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She¡¯s A Thief
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| Owen |
