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THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT : THE ANTHOLOGY

Fresh Out The Slammer

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Now pretty baby
I'm running back home to you
Fresh out the slammer
I know who my first call will be to
Fresh out the slammer, oh
Another summer taking cover, running thunder
He don't understand me
Splintered back in winter's silent dinners
Bitter, he was with her in dreams
Bright and blue and fights in tunnels
Handcuffed to the spell I was under
For just one hour of sunshine
Years of labor, ducts and ceilings
In the shade of how he was feeling
But it's gonna be alright, I did my time
Now pretty baby, I'm running back home to you
Fresh out the slammer
I know who my first call will be to
Fresh out the slammer, oh
Camera flashes, welcome bashes
Get the matches, toss the ashes off the ledge
As I said in my letters, now that I know better
I will never lose my baby again
My friends tried but I wouldn't hear it
Watch me daily disappearing
For just one glimpse of his smile
All those nights you kept me going
Swirled you into all of my poems
Now we're at the starting line, I did my time
Now pretty baby, I'm running
To the house, we still wait up
and that porch light gleams
To the one who says
I'm the girl of his American dreams
And no matter what I've done
it wouldn't matter anyway
Ain't no way I'm gonna screw up
now that I know what's at stake
Here, at the park where
we used to sit on children's swings
Wearing imaginary rings
But it's gonna be alright, I did my time