We said you were wrong but you just wouldn't listen,
The trains were all late in your head,
We buried your hatchet but couldn't keep down
the lies and the thoughts that were dead.

"Well tell me your motive for wanting" you said,
"to tear down this bridge I have built.
So strong is your theory, so soft are your words,
are you trying to sugar-coat guilt?"

Such hard punching words from such soft baby lips,
your conviction a Barbie doll's glare.
The stars shone dimmer, your eyes did too,
but somehow you hadn't a care.

Or was that dim glimmer more stifled than stopped,
your words just strength masking fear?
"My life is my own, you can't change me" you said,
Oh Barbie you're so wrong my dear!

But we brushed your blonde locks and we painted your nails,
caressing your hands and your heart,
We agreed to your schedule (the trains they can wait),
for emotional archeology is an art.