There's a wandering tear in my eye
waiting for your next goodbye
you cry rivers of rain
that water your clay-potted pain
and scream at people who can't hear you
turn away the people who want to heal you
Portland spills her pity on your face
every drop one more memory to erase
I lay in your bed, offending cigarette in hand
and force you to listen to some obscure band
waiting for the revelation to hit you
that I've only ever been there within you
a dream you've somehow created
but when the sun came up, never really faded
I feel cheap with my blood-red lips
embarassed of the thickness in my hips
hoping you're not looking too closely
and praying you somehow still notice me
through the self-enveloped fog of confusion
that's turned your life into one big illusion
I flick an ash upon your black-hole sheet
and the tear in my eye admits it's defeat.