I Knew Every Raindrop By Its Name.

I Think It's Silly For Anyone To Think You Could Write Under The Influence, But If They'd Like To Think That, I'd Like To Keep The Legend Alive. Maybe I Was Under The Influence When I Wrote Jesus' Son And I Just Didn't Know It.

She Wanted To Eat My Heart And Be Lost In The Desert With What She'd Done, She Wanted To Fall On Her Knees And Give Birth From It, She Wanted To Hurt Me As Only A Child Can Be Hurt By Its Mother.

They Needed To Share One Secret After Another With A Beautiful Woman, To Peel Away Layer After Layer, Mask After Mask, And Still Find Themselves Worshiped.

The Traveling Salesmen Fed Me Pills That Made The Lining Of My Veins Feel Scraped Out, My Jaw Ached... I Knew Every Raindrop By Its Name, I Sensed Everything Before It Happened. Like I Knew A Certain Oldsmobile Would Stop Even Before It Slowed, And By The Sweet Voices Of The Family Inside, I Knew We'd Have An Accident In The Rain. I Didn't Care. They Said They'd Take Me All The Way.

I Wandered Over Across The Hall Where They Were Showing A Short Movie About Vasectomies. Much Later I Told Her That I'd Actually Gotten A Vasectomy A Long Time Ago, And Somebody Else Must Have Gotten Her Pregnant. I Also Told Her Once That I Had Inoperable Cancer And Would Soon Be Passed Away And Gone, Eternally. But Nothing I Could Think Up, No Matter How Dramatic Or Horrible, Ever Made Her Repent Or Love Me The Way She Had At First, Before She Really Knew Me.