She sits pretty in her car, engine hums like her pulse from the start. And her hand fluctuates from itching her wrist, untangling her hair and fixing her dress. She was never pretty enough, not worth time. But he likes to refresh the ole memory with actions. She remembered the promise of forsaken and he remembers how she cares.

But he likes to misuse words and misplace obligations.

And the spokeswoman comes on the radio, speaks about living a life to get away from my evil kind. Well, the volume was loud enough, akin to a restraining order. So she shifts into drive and she'll sit in this hell because she no longer believes in heaven. And he was the only thing close to heaven.