I know a girl with cuts on her legs.
I think that she hates the way she was made
But we never spoke of why they were there
I just squeezed them and kissed them
Until we both felt a bit better

And now I’ve returned to the town where she dwells
That cold lonely cabin her grandfather built
I suppose that’s where she’s imprisoned herself
To write all those words she’s too scared to tell
Those sad, short stories of a girl curled up in her shell

Night and day she tends to her bar
She pours the drinks, they pour out their hearts
All that sorrow and alcohol weighs hard on her thoughts
So she writes them down
She loves them all

And when we’d make love, she’d stare in my eyes
I swore we had met a thousand times
Thousands of lives
Thousands of nights
She’s written of it a thousand times

Night and day she tends to her bar
She pours me a drink for my parched heart
All my sorrow’s in alcohol
She holds up the cup to my cracked lips
For a kiss