“It wasn’t she left me. It was more – she left somebody that I knew. And I used to know her. And it’s the strangeness of estrangement and how people that we used to think we knew somewhat intimately aren’t people that we really know. They’re like ghosts.”
– From an interview, circa late 1996
I hear you split for Carolina,
In a beat-up Ford Econoline.
You fit that same old APB description,
That used to fit a friend of mine.
But she’s all gone – my eyes must be mistaken.
I’ll tell the folks back home
There was no sign.
It makes more sense –
At least by my way of thinking,
To say you come here
From some other world.
You murdered her and now you occupy her body.
The alien inside a Daddy’s Girl.
But she’s all gone and a body’s just a temple.
So worship well the sparkle and the curl.
But we all miss her.
And we’ve been
Grabbing at some straws.
She used to be the Queen
Of everything you see.
But she’s all gone, there ought to be a law.
Now anywhere you might care to travel,
I think you’ll find it’s all the same.
You’ll see a lot of shadows, hear some footsteps,
Turn around with no one left to blame.
She’s all gone and lately you’ve been learning,
You can’t change the truth like you can change your name.
She’s all gone, I hope it’s up to heaven.
She’s all gone.
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© and ℗ 1997 Marques Bovre