The radio only played on lonely nights,
but if I said goodbye now,
it'd be a denial of what she whispered to me
from so far away. I could be
an infection on her sermons; guiding
me without knowing my name.
And who is it to run through, ruining
the lost perfection she became
when they both went their own way?

Nobody could kill her, because she
loved so truly and sang it out
for me to remember years after I've been
old enough to know her.
She kissed his sunken cheek and with her touch
his hair grew back and he said he would,
but their other partner never will:
so alone, but still
she spreads rumours for me to grow by.
She was broken in a floor-length ball gown,
and I heard her… like never before.