They dropped the phonebook on my driveway, I’ll throw it out myself,
along with the other useless things, getting dusty on my shelf.
Like the brown glass broken ashtray, we bought in Chicopee,
and the ’97 Plymouth, now I only have the keys.
Loose pennies and random photos, at the bottom of the drawer,
either stack them or forget them, or think of you and look for more.

Instead of burying the hatchet, we buried our heads beneath the sand.
Beside ourselves, beside the point, beside the life that we had planned.
We bit our tongues, then bit the bullet, and then finally bit the dust.
We’d blown off steam, then blew a fuse, blew our tops, then blew up us.

I’ll take the trash out to the curb, once I’ve cleaned out that old stuff,
like the bottle that we drank from, and giggled ‘til we’d had enough.
And the sweater you had stolen, in that Baltimore café,
you said you had to have it, that girl won’t miss is anyway.
It finally didn’t matter, ‘cuz you forgot it when you left
so I used it for a pillow, every night but never slept.

It’s been a dozen years gone by, since we no longer said ‘I do.’
Your leaving wasn’t’ secret, we both had all the clues.
We had said for worse or better, you said you’d kiss me when I cried,
and I promised you forever, I would have held you when you died.

Instead of burying the hatchet, we buried our heads beneath he sand.
Beside ourselves, beside the point, beside the life that we had planned.
We bit our tongues, then bit the bullet, and then finally bit the dust.
We’d blown off steam, then blew a fuse, blew our tops, then blew up us.

I stacked those pennies on my dresser, one for each day since you left.
Heads up, shined up, and perfect, and each one facing west.
Notes and photos in an album, and it’s right next to my bed,
One night I used a marker, each ‘I love you’ lined in red.

Instead of burying the hatchet, we buried our heads beneath the sand.
Beside ourselves, beside the point, beside the life that we had planned.