H.I.M.

There’s a well worn record with a title I forget
I listen when he’s on my mind, and I’ll admit he hasn’t left
One day I’ll pick it up, and that heavy dust will bring me to tears
But for now I’ll down a shot, sing forget-me-not, and wish he were here
I don’t deserve him, he’s not like us
He’s pure and kind, never out of line, and his heart is full of love
You don’t deserve her, but you call it self-destruct
But we’re hurricanes, we can’t help but break every heart that comes to us
There’s an old guitar case somewhere with a picture of your wife
And a slow song from Havana that came from another life
But we were all of that at once, the highest tide of afterglow
Was it love, or drugs, or alcohol, I guess I’ll never know
I don’t deserve him. he’s not like us
He’s pure and kind, never out of line, and his heart is full of love
You don’t deserve her, but you call it self destruct
But we’re hurricanes, we can’t help but break every heart that comes to us
We’re hurricanes, we can’t help but break every heart that comes to us
That harmless Indian medicine sure made a fucking mess of us