Hope’s a terrific tragedy, oh she’s brilliant but what a lazy bee. She's got bloodied knees and dirt on her white lace, she strums her guitar with a common finesse, her bare feet have known many lies, her hands remain scuffed from weaving said lies. Such pretty and poised lips, such a tragedy they only speak your repetitive prophecy, as she sings you to your sweet imminent death, comfortably. Lay your head on her lap won’t you? Her knuckles might gain the color they lost a lifetime ago. you'll find her in bar fights, in the shimmering glitter of casinos. she kisses you before the most important day of your life, so steady, so warm and now as you lie awake, roughly carving out the edges of a hurried plan B, think darling, wasn't it just a casual fling?