Babbling Point

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Postmortem on Our Love
© 1993 Neil Gaiman and Lorraine Garland

I've been dissecting all the letters that you sent me
Slicing through them looking for the real you
Cutting through the fat and gristle of each tortuous epistle
Trying to work out what to do

I've laid the presents that you gave me out upon the floor
A book with pages missing, and a bottle, and a glove
Now outside it's chilly autumn, I'm conducting a postmortem
On our love

I'm conducting a postmortem on our love
An autopsy to find out what went wrong
I know it died
I just don't know how, or why
Maybe its heart stopped
Maybe its heart stopped

There's an eyeball in a bottle staring sadly at the morgue
There's a white line on the sidewalk silhouetting where it fell
In the dark I am inspecting all the angles of trajectory
Of hell

Was it suicide or murder or an accident, or what?
Though I cut and slice and saw and hack, it won't come back to life
And I'm severing the label of each organ on the table
With a knife
With a knife

I'm conducting a postmortem on our love
An autopsy to find out what went wrong

I know it died
I just don't know how, or why
Maybe its heart stopped
Maybe its heart stopped

If anyone knows where to get the CD of this song from the Flashgirls, please email me.

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