Robert Smith's plaintive voice comes from the radio
Complaining that his girlfriend's comatose and it's oh so serious
Passion for anything tends to distort the truth
That's melancholy I can't forgive and end up listening to Dio
As the road wends it's way through the dark and the mysterious
Lightning flashes and a crack
On the head
Reminds me of the time I awoke in her bed
That hurricaine tore through the house last night
Didn't touch anything except my disposition
Once more into the secret cut rate stash my friends, once more;
If he lived in the modern day, so would cry Shakespeare
It's never funny when the shoe is under the other chair
Rain runs down the gutter into the grate as the storm begins to pour
Rivers of silver gray snaking across the empty dance floor
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