High on drugs, in your leather skirt-
the way you move is making every head turn.
You look just like Joan Jett, they see disaster
but when I'm with you, I think of White Oleander.

From a tiny little town with even smaller people-
life imitates art while good pretends to be evil.
We fall apart, separately then together.
Guess my latest storm was more than you could weather.

Forever unsettled, always on the run.
But never from me, thought I was the lucky one.
Broken down baby, heart of a traveler,
said she'd be back one day with our happily Ever After.

I waited up for weeks, and finally you called my phone.
"Some day, we'll run the world," and then you hit the dial tone.
© ramblingneurotic