I gave you a child and you didn’t want it
That’s the most that I have to give.
I gave you a house and you didn’t haunt it
Now where am I supposed to live?
I gave you a tree and you did not embrace it
I gave you a nightmare and you didn’t chase it
I’d give you a dream and you’d only wake from it
Now I’ll never go to sleep again.
I’d give you a treasure and you’d only take from it
Look at the hole where jewelry had been.
Baby, oh baby, why must you escape from it —
This love that we once called our friend?
I gave you my body and you ate a-plenty
I gave you ten lives and you wasted twenty
Now I’m standing empty, helpless and bare
Without a morsel left of me to give.
And you, you have vanished into the air,
The air in which I must live.
