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