I became a criminal when I fell in love. Before that I was a waitress.
I didn't want to go to Chicago with you. I wanted to marry you, I wanted Your wife to suffer.
I wanted her life to be like a play In which all the parts are sad parts.
Does a good person Think this way? I deserve
Credit for my courage--
I sat in the dark on your front porch. Everything was clear to me: If your wife wouldn't let you go That proved she didn't love you. If she loved you Wouldn't she want you to be happy?
I think now If I felt less I would be A better person. I was A good waitress. I could carry eight drinks.
I used to tell you my dreams. Last night I saw a woman sitting in a dark bus-- In the dream, she's weeping, the bus she's on Is moving away. With one hand She's waving; the other strokes An egg carton full of babies.