I hear it when you dial: a sigh behind your smile.
I read it on your tongue: bitter words for anyone who tries to help.
We wonder why you won't dispense with your carefree words
When they just don't ring true anymore.
The ghost of a Christmas past in the parking lot
Of a closed ninety-nine cent shop.
He showed you in at least a dozen ways
That they don't reward brave displays.
They smile to your face.
They snicker to your back.
Oh, I hate to be the one to tell you.
Have you ever been so lost?
Have you ever really lost your way around a tired town?
Around a tired job?
Around a low-end life?
The ghost of your Christmas past
Has no use for fear
Or regard for the time of year.
I hear it when you dial: a sigh behind your smile.
I read it on your tongue: bitter words for anyone who tries to help.
We wonder why you won't dispense with your carefree words
When they just don't ring true anymore.