The hat on your head the ghosts before breakfast. The lump in your throat the name on her necklace. She's certain she'll never be caught. You can buy her things now but she'll never be bought.
These storms they gather forces unbeknownst to fools like me. They hide on the horizon too far gone to see. I could have swore the heart you wore upon your sleeve was mine.
She drove a blue car around Bloomington. She was a thin girl but she had substance. She said that most girls who come to Bloomington. Only come here to find husbands.