I Gave You

I gave you a child and you didn’t want it
That’s the most that I have to give
I gave you a house and you didn’t haunt it
Now where am I supposed to live?
I gave you a tree and you did not embrace it
I gave you a nightmare and you didn’t chase it
I’d give you a dream and you’d only wake from it
Now I’ll never go to sleep again
I’d give you a treasure and you’d only take from it
Look at the hole where jewelry had been
Baby, oh baby, why must you escape from it?
This love that we once called our friend
I gave you my body and you had a-plenty
I gave you ten lives and you wasted twenty
Now I’m standing empty, helpless and bare
Without a morsel left of me to give
And you, you had vanished into the air
The air in which I must live