She had twenty portraits all in single file
Her voice like water over smooth stones
When she's here, she switches the flow of time
Treats the edge of the rocks like the coast
She gratuitously declines
Every second man at home she spoke
She graciously calls it denial
But she knows it's the end of the rope
She says she loves the white wine
With her second glass of Prosecco
When she finally opens her eyes
She can't even see through the smoke
Her mouth runs like a river while
She converses with a man who's too old
Taking another sip of chamomile
She laughs without knowing what's told
The radio plays a beautiful lie
She's incessantly questioning what she knows
A boy snickers at something she doesn't like
She says he'll reap what he sows
She sits in a desolate field and cries
Her colors show through her sorrow
Her mouth hits my lips next to a child
Who builds a tower of stones
With a broken heart she fakes a smile
Saying the brook ain't that cold
Either she's been desensitized
Or she's taking a stab at our hopes
Put the mountain's beauty to the side
For she's taking off all her clothes
As the stream flows on by
She turns and laughs at some private joke
She must have made with the campervan ghost