My Arizona Girl,
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she's standing in the desert,
knee-high boots making her sweat,
curtain hair shileding those eyes,
the ones that made me cut class every morning,
just to be with her.
Didn't care that she was taken,
inside I knew she was really mine.
Tatooed my story on her ankle,
so he couldn't see it.
She keeps it covered now,
and those tears in her eyes,
are really pictures of our mornings,
traffic humming out the window,
espresso kisses melting off my lips.
Could taste them all day,
like a drug,
spent my night itching for my fix of her.
She called me in the morning,
sombre like the moon.
This wasn't my Arizona girl,
with her lemon-puff smile.
She slammed the door to her apartment,
and I knew he was there,
when I started drinking spirits,
because coffee was always her.
I'd catch her on the street playing cello with a ghost,
and she'd turn her head away.
Hope she got the point when I cut off all my hair,
she'd always loved to run her fingers through it.
Had to throw away my incense,
because it smelled like her skin,
would have sunk my teeth into it,
but then he would find out.
I went to Arizona to find myself,
but all I found was a hall of mirrors,
and in each and every one was her.