The soul singer, she was shotand my father cries because she looks like me and I look like my mother,although he leaves that last partout.We drink red wineuntil we can’t help but talkabout the way she had to crushthe bones of love again and againuntil they could not healand infection forced him to give upand let her gofree.I will choose my lovers betterI will not lose myself for them to be.I will not be my lovers’ debtornor punish themfor loving me.