There's no quiet anymore anywhere for Madelleine if carless will never mean carefree.
She'll still laugh a little with the afternoon men in their dust, and still half as much with the afternoon men in their papers.
It's all goldfish and goldrush, trusting the inoculations won't infect her, between the fireworks and waterslides with the devil's foresight with the weather.
Laughing with the afternoon men in their bathing suits, trusting rain to all come together.
For Madelleine's performances I could've been anyone,
but now I know that anonyminity was all that I thought love was.
But I must admit I've always preferred a theater that men all go to to sit alone together to any version of home that I've ever known.
And Madelleine, Madelleine
You should be even lonelier.
You should be even lonelier.
and I think you can do it.
