Deborah

Deborah

I’m sitting on this broken chair ‘cause you left me.
I don’t care if it falls apart and breaks my sweet little neck.
I’m waiting for the cops to come and get me.
Blood spilled on the floor and my hands are covered in red.

We both reach for the gun.
It was a matter of luck.
I guess we never would know what would have happen if he got it.

“Temper, temper. Don’t loose your head.”
What the last thing that he said.
But the gun went off in my hands.
And I came to my senses one bullet too late.

We both reach for the gun.
It was a matter of luck.
I guess we never would know what would have happen if he got it.