Oh William, Oh William, I love you so much
But you're history now, Bill, unavailable to touch
The sum total of your life was an eight plus a five
Divided by zero by the skeleton and the scythe
Afflicted by sorrow for a man I've never met
Desire is a remedy for his fake silhouette
Does this longing for you mean that I'm guilty of self-projection?
Oh I forgot, you're not here to answer my questions
With no object of affection how can this need mean so much?
Can we project love onto things that we can't even touch?
If desire is in question you were necessity's answer
To the cause and the effect of this emotional transfer
Necessity seems formless, something in common with you
Yet when it attaches itself to matter it sticks better than glue
It takes all your belongings and into a burning hole it pushes
Oh, the fragrant crackle of dried rose bushes
I burnt for you not with you your fire needs no end
Someday I'll join you in the vacuum into which I only stare
So divorced from your image, I sent alimony checks of love
In heaven-sent envelopes addressed to none of the above
(She was a martyr of free expression. She kept her letters in a locked compartment because she knew someday the role of Judas would be played out on her d**hbed by the New York City Police Department.)