My Heart Is 104 Degrees

There are five missed phone calls from you. One voice message. You've even tried to mail me a letter. Desperation suits you, makes you kinder. You keep trying to inch your way back in, thinking you'll find a little shade here, somewhere cool to rest your head. But you have picked so much at my roots, the earth is now dry and barren. And even if I cried a thousand tears, baby, these are still drought-like conditions. Nothing can grow here anymore.