Still She had the voice of ten thousand dark angels armed to the teeth And preparing for war Sometime in her thirties she just stopped singing, can't remember what for She said she had the luck of the Irish in the late 1840s She'd tell me stories like she'd met some boy and She'd driven home just to swim in the quarries Tears were rare but pills were copious She said who needs a future when you've got opiates When someone you know picks her own time to go it can be sorta scary Everyone said kind words to the dead: she wasn't ordinary I never felt awkward when we used to talk, I hope she thought of me often The rest of them headed outside to get high but I just stared at her coffin She never thought of me that way, she preferred it platonic I was the guy she called to explain the reasons why hip-hop sucked after The Chronic She had such good taste in music and such bad taste in men She'd meet them on trains or at festivals, then waste a few years just settling in And raising their kids but bearing none of her own It's fucking unjust she ended up alone When someone you know picks her own time to go it can be sorta scary Everyone said kind words to the dead: she wasn't ordinary I never felt awkward when we used to talk, I hope she thought of me often The rest of them headed outside to get high but I just stared at her coffin I still think of her lying there still after so much motion Dreaming of space travel drunk on a park bench with darkness approaching Now the one in the sundress looks familiar She might have been her roommate in college or out-of-town cousin Or maybe a work friend I met at some dinner You know how white women that age all look the same We both agreed it's a shame When someone you know picks her own time to go it can be sorta scary Everyone said kind words to the dead: she wasn't ordinary I never felt awkward when we used to talk, I hope she thought of me often The rest of them headed outside to get high but I just stared at her coffin