She had a reconstructed faceAnd he had no lips to speak ofThere
was no feature out of placeAnd no recipe for sweet loveFrom an
Indiana DodgeTo an Airstream by the parkwayIn the silver they
would lodgeAnd as for love they hit it sharplyHe was the type to
look for workAlthough not the kind to find itShe was an office
temp and clerkHe didn't have to be reminded...But he
mindedHe was a writer in his dreamsHe sent his thoughts to
magazinesHe'd get them back without a checkWhat do
bohemians expect?He started hanging out with thoseCollectively
misunderstoodTheir only thought was how to poseAnd as their
failure he was something good...She roomed and boarded him for
yearsShe was supported in her fearsShe was a ruby in his shoeHis
neck was red enough for twoShe had dreams all of her
ownShe'd tell him that soon on the phoneShe wasn't
ever coming backShe was never bored she would give him thatHe
came home drunk out of his headExcept she wasn't there to
steerHe needed her to find the bedShe left the Airstream running
clearShe had a reconstructed lifeWith no regrets to speak ofSeems
she was not the docile typeWithout a recipe for sweet loveShe had
a reconstructed fate
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