Loose Talk

My love it’s on the moors,
it’s in the drunk tank.
It’s in the hoarsest voice of the morning.
My love, you can’t divorce,
you made that mistake
of thinking I’m a grave like you are,
a slave like you are.

Woke up, I’m spitting mad,
I’m spitting chemicals.
I’m a sidewalk Pollock, an alcoholic.
Woke up outside your door,
I heard you screaming.
It’s the strangest feeling,
like layers pealing off

And all this loose talk
All this loose talk…

And I hope you didn’t think
that I was serious.
Hope you didn’t think that I was serious.
My love at best is only curious.
And I hope you didn’t think
that I was serious.

My love, it’s on the moors,
it’s in the drunk tank.
It’s in the hoarsest voice of the morning.
My love, you can’t divorce,
you made that mistake
of thinking I’m a grave like you are,
a slave like you are.
But I’m not.