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By Martha Wainwright, Poetry is no place for a heart that's a whore
And
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By Martha Wainwright, How soon will I be seeing you?
How soon? I wish
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By Martha Wainwright, I will internalize everything
I will hold back the pain
And I
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By Martha Wainwright, It's over before it ever got started
It's over before it
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By Martha Wainwright, When the day is short
And the nights are long
It's a
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By Martha Wainwright, There are days when the cage doesn't seem
To open very
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By Martha Wainwright, You're comin' tonight
To my home town
I've been to yours many
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By Martha Wainwright, There was that song you wrote
About the king who went
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By Martha Wainwright, I can hardly move and I sure can't groove
And I
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By Martha Wainwright, In the middle of the night
Comes a knockin' at my
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By Martha Wainwright, Remember when you said we'd marry
The wilder shores of love,
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By Martha Wainwright, Sometimes I feel like there is no one
No one at
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By Martha Wainwright, Love is a stranger in an open car
To tempt you
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By Martha Wainwright, What, what would I do
If I can't have you?
If I
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By Martha Wainwright, Emily tries, but misunderstands,
She's often inclined to borrow somebodies
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By Martha Wainwright, And the children's eyes they turn
As I walk away
I am
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By Martha Wainwright, You came over
And we, we made out on my tiny
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By Martha Wainwright, We had visions in the night
I was scared and you
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By Martha Wainwright, I know you've got to go
And I wanted to be
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By Martha Wainwright, Got your hand up all in my shirt
And you know
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By Martha Wainwright, Poetry is no place for a heart that's a whore
And
-
By Martha Wainwright, Summer comes and rain falls away
But the very next day
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By Martha Wainwright, These are not my people, I should never have come
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By Martha Wainwright, Far away, in some lovely way I hear your call
Whatever
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By Martha Wainwright, Catch a feel or cop a ride
I won't be late,
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By Martha Wainwright, My brother, my sister, my lover, my maker
Did someone here
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By Martha Wainwright, These flowers are coming up wild
They're coming up, they're coming
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By Martha Wainwright, This, this life
Is boring
This, this life
Right now is snoring
That's all
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By Martha Wainwright, I'm not such a good lover
I'm a better talker
So when
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By Martha Wainwright, Home no more home to me, whither must I wander?
Hunger
