she kills, with foreign films, the emptiness of day to day
  and i wait until the weekend comes
  so i can clear this uselessness from my brain
  i count the days until she arrives
  those precious minutes when she is mine
  as we walk from my front door to her car
  we are so close and alone
  but that will disappear in a room filled with the warmth
  of others company
  there is too much company
  i hide my wounded pride and stare off into the other cars
  if i could just speak the words to tell her
  exactly how i feel
  i count the ways that i might say it
  but i know that none of them will work because
  she won't feel the same
  i've come this far
  but i can't go through with it because the truth would hurt
  too much
  this hurts too much
  she goes back to the west coast to drink in the sunshine
  and i will stay here in these dead plains
  and try to make a seed grow
  and i would pray for rain
  if i thought that that would help