Lament for a six-string goddess

Pink, paisley, ridiculous...miraculous
With your swing-sweet lows
And your bee-sting highs
Your visual confetti thrown on the walls
Whenever I turn this way and that
How you stayed in tune, clever motherfucker
When every other guitar on the stage was
Begging for a turn of the pegs
You held steady and smirked a little
But we all still loved you anyway.




Every man I knew
Wanted you in his arms
But you always came home
Because you were my girl
You saw me through my first gig
That night I turned 30 and
They liked me, they really liked me,
No small thanks to you.

And there you went on Saturday
Stoic in your coffin case
But I wonder if you knew, deep down,
That I wasn't just lending you out this time
That this bearded fellow was your new man
That I'd turned you into a house payment
And a way to keep my cable on.

Sad fucking way to end
An affair like ours.

I'm sorry, baby.