Salinger

Oh Esme, don't you lean on dirty statues overdue to be cleaned
Why don't you tell me what you really mean?
'Cause he will follow you down the street and think it all so sweet
But it's not, leave a message written with your feet
Through a haze of smoke I call to you with a condescending voice
But your tired smile slowly fades when given the choice

You lay on your back and you pray
For a pilgrim to come and take you away
But no one is coming for you
Better find your Jesus before your life is through

And you've been saying lately that the city is a mystery to me
And "I've seen snakes climbing out of trees"
But my dear I would argue that like a fractured sea
It gives and it takes equally
And now you wait for a ghost to call you on the phone, but he can't
He's less real than the smoke from your cigarette

And she says, "Who cares if I'm on a pack a day?"
"I had heard him say 'what difference does it make?'"
"Cause after he fell on that bullet so quick
There is nothing left that can make me sick"