5.Bracing For Sunday
Drop my gloves into the stove
it's echoed out the grave
I fell in love with those electric lights that drug me into town
so late
clever, cunning lights
I reel behind them deputized
scrape the lens off Christian eyes
Friday night girl, bracing for Sunday to call
I only ever held one love
Her name was Mary Anne
She died her being a child by her brother
He died because I murdered him
Shot him though his jelly eye
I won myself his wicked life
Now I thread the needle once through mine
Friday night girl, bracing for Sunday to call
Emptied onto shifting sheets
Staring rosary holes in my ceiling
waiting for my purpose to deliver and reveal itself to me
But all I hear are subway trains bang again the bed right clang
I'm a Friday night girl, bracing for Sunday to call
Bracing for Sunday to call
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-The Worse Things Get, The Harder I.jpg)