It's a cold call to enemy soil
Past the tight frame
Behind which, in disgust, you recoil
When you said to leave a message at the tone
I know you were hoping for more than a click
And a dial tone
But I don't know what to say
I guess it's all the same
Reason I pick my scabs
I know you don't want to hear about that
Especially in August
When you're taking a break
From and open season
Of listening to people like me
Whine and complain
Well, I guess I just wanted a feeling from this call
To feel like I did when I touched her skin
The few times it didn't crawl
But I don't know what to say
I guess it's all the same
The same reason I write checks from long-dead accounts
I'm sending one to the phone company now
To cover the cost of these long-distance bouts
With the answering machine
In your empty
Your empty house