15.4.18

A song that needs some chords

My best friends purse

She makes a puddle of her things
A puddle of herself

Came home tonight
The contents of your purse were on the kitchen floor
Lipstick, no lid, loose smokes
What were you looking for

Wondering when you’ll find
All the people you’ve become
All the places you run from

Keys were in the door
Stockings halfway up the stairs
I hear him coming round
But I’m not sure he really cares

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