He had to leave, so he pushed and shoved till he managed free.
Hard to believe he could love somebody
hung up on his tricks, strung up to the sticks like a witch in Salem.
Hard to believe that she ever forgave him.
He's said his piece, don't point that gun, were it not for him,
she'd never know how to hate somebody.
Oh, to live with the guilt he was hiding,
To take that weight, we had to blame our timing.
To the barely pardoned,
I know times were hard and
you died old and scarred,
but that's a price you pay.
Another inch apart,
another broken heart,
another life will start,
and we'll both be okay.
Tear our lives apart,
but fuck, we'll be okay.
To say you're avant-garde,
then build a house of cards
to try to disregard
how you spent all those days:
in your friend's backyard and
in her mom's rose garden.
Home is where the heart is
she would always say.
Home is where the heart is.
Her's is here in Salem.

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