She had a reconstructed face
And he had no lips to speak of
There was no feature out of place
And no recipe for sweet love
From an Indiana Dodge
To an Airstream by the parkway
In the silver they would lodge
And as for love they hit it sharply
He was the type to look for work
Although not the kind to find it
She was an office temp and clerk
He didn't have to be reminded...
But he minded
He was a writer in his dreams
He sent his thoughts to magazines
He'd get them back without a check
What do bohemians expect?
He started hanging out with those
Collectively misunderstood
Their only thought was how to pose
And as their failure he was something good...
She roomed and boarded him for years
She was supported in her fears
She was a ruby in his shoe
His neck was red enough for two
She had dreams all of her own
She'd tell him that soon on the phone
She wasn't ever coming back
She was never bored she would give him that
He came home drunk out of his head
Except she wasn't there to steer
He needed her to find the bed
She left the Airstream running clear
She had a reconstructed life
With no regrets to speak of
Seems she was not the docile type
Without a recipe for sweet love
She had a reconstructed fate
