It's You

It’s you whose sleeves got broken
And it’s you, sitting on the kerb
It’s five o’clock and the trees are smoking
It’s five o’clock and it’s no longer dark
She got a crooked face when she smiles
Or if she’s nervous, looking over her shoulder
She’s got a dog named after Ike Turner
She calls it ‘good song writer, bad husband'
She won’t drive under that old street light without feeling nervous
And thinking it will fall on her
Like it did poor David (?)
And I’ll remind her those summer nights
Doing pills when she couldn’t get drunk
She used to be too young for that shit
And now she’s just too old
And it’s you (it's you)
Painting her shutter (it's you)
Your bucket’s got a hole in it and you’re finding it hard to move
With those plaster casts on your legs
You both were waiting for something to happen
And it’s you (it's you)
It’s you, it’s you (it's you)