I Took The Volume To A Table,

Like A Kid Kicked Out Of Class. Humiliated And Free.

The Stupid Things You Say In The Rain, That Can't Ever Be Washed Away.

I Hated Labels Anyway. People Didn't Fit In Slots--prostitute, Housewife, Saint--like Sorting The Mail. We Were So Mutable, Fluid With Fear And Desire, Ideals And Angles, Changeable As Water.

A Cliche Is Like A Coin That Has Been Handled Too Much. Once Language Has Been Overly Handled, It No Longer Leaves A Clear Imprint.

Many Women Get Involved With A Man That You Pretty Much Know Isn't Suitable And You're Kind Of Breaking Your Rules, But He's Attractive In Some Unknown Way. And Then He Doesn't Even Realize What A Sacrifice You're Making By Being With Him And He Dumps You!