written for stuart ransom miller, serial lady-killer. without the clever references that make the old 97's the lyrical geniuses that they are. title stolen shamelessly from stuart ransom miller himself.

things that disappear.

she hitched a ride out of town
in my battered pick-up truck,
rust leaving stains on the knees
of her jeans like
lipstick stains on the collars of my shirts.

she sang me a sad sad lovesong,
chin pressed to her knee.
told me a sad sad tale about star-cross'd lovers,
naked feet resting on the dashboard,
her toenails painted the color of sin.

oh, lovely lady, lay your head upon my shoulder
as we drive south, south to the border.
sing me another sad sad lovesong
because i love the sound of your voice
in my ear and the wind scoring its fingers through my hair.

my lovely lady and i drove down to mexico city.
woke up with dust in my mouth
and sun in my hair,
and my beautiful lady, my lovely lady
was nothing but a memory curved against my side.