It's another prayer to the patron saint of lost causes Haitmail written but never sent She had a voice like a paper cut But no one else will do
She had a mind that could suck out the poison It's a gift I never learned how to use So I drink in the stale air around me The same old story they're always telling me Your dream came true
From a thousand million miles away at the edge of space The voice that makes me sick whispers in my ear again I strain to hear but my hearing's blurred A pounding in my heart A ringing in my head And I wake up alone
I look around the room And somehow I've known all along Which dream came true
