Stephen Duffy The World Records Her Every Thought
The world records her every thought
And broadcasts them from trees
Strapped in the seat of his company's car
His story, his career
The little else he has is dead
Drunk and beaten down
How can a life as narrow as his
Tie her up in a wedding gown
She is all colour and running through the wood
The purest glamour and the common good
So quickly whispered, whispered by a cloud
The purest sister, too good to be allowed
Taken from the ranks of virgins
Prepared to be abused,
By years of propaganda
Foundation for the bruised
How she thought she could benefit
From following this course
Remained unanswered at her trial
Her courtship, her divorce
And in the glove compartment
With the tickets and cassettes
She leaves his keys and a reminder
To pick up his regrets
But in another version
That matches her disgust
She takes a small revolver
And leaves a bullet in his guts