| I don’t care how well intended
|
| It was meant when he sent it
|
| Long forgot in the blink of an eye
|
| I got your locks all amended
|
| And your bird less well defended
|
| With silk thread to climb you up into the sky
|
| You know that it’s true
|
| But of course it’s up to you
|
| Still he doesn’t love you
|
| Still he doesn’t love you
|
| And as he held through the night
|
| He took out your second sight
|
| He left it all for the magpie and the fox
|
| But buried it safe
|
| In your special place
|
| A crease, a crevice you forgot
|
| But he still smells so nice
|
| So against all advice
|
| I creep into the hole that he sleeps
|
| But I must have dropped the key
|
| So I’ll just sing until I bleed
|
| Still he doesn’t love me
|
| Still he doesn’t love me
|
| I take a turn in his tailspin
|
| To churn the urn that he’s ailed in
|
| I break the last thread of the screw
|
| My compass cracked in his grip
|
| And as he spits out all my pips
|
| Still he doesn’t love you
|
| Still he doesn’t love you
|
| He cut it out stitch by stitch
|
| In my fallopian grip
|
| I hang the dead meat on his tree
|
| And as I screeched through the night
|
| He said, «My wife fell on that knife»
|
| He coughed and he coughed until he bleed
|
| So when you going to learn?
|
| When will you tend to these burns?
|
| When will you wake from this hell?
|
| You can put it in a song
|
| But that won’t change what’s wrong
|
| No, it won’t give you the key to the cell
|
| You know that it’s true
|
| But of course it’s up to you
|
| Still he doesn’t love you
|
| Still he doesn’t love you
|
| Still he doesn’t love you |