| The thermometer ran out of numbers when it reached fifty degrees
 | 
| I just laid down on the floor with a bag of frozen peas
 | 
| We saw plumes of smoke rising in the distance from our balcony
 | 
| I poured a glass of wine
 | 
| Sucked the juice out of a kiwi, Catherine turned on the TV
 | 
| They showed acres after acres of absolutely nothing
 | 
| And then Stevie called and said, «Are you watching what I’m watching?»
 | 
| I said, «I'm watching what you’re watching but what is it I’m watching?»
 | 
| The night before I had been bored, my legs had been restless
 | 
| It was my birthday; | 
| I’d already opened up my presents
 | 
| At the social club I met some friends who were friends with this girl
 | 
| One by one they dropped off 'til it was just me and her
 | 
| We made out in every bar in town
 | 
| While the state of Victoria burned down to the ground
 | 
| And the sun rose over the city
 | 
| The wind swept through the valley
 | 
| You don’t get over a broken heart
 | 
| You just learn to carry it gracefully
 | 
| The Edinburgh gardens offered some kind of shade
 | 
| I would pick up some beers and head down there late
 | 
| Watch the possums and listen to their growling banter
 | 
| There was one I liked especially; | 
| I named her Sam, as in Samantha
 | 
| I offered a slice of apple from my hand
 | 
| She would sniff it, frown, and then lumber back to the trash can
 | 
| I was going uphill on my Malvern Star when I was passed by a scooter
 | 
| «You got a dollar or a cigarette? | 
| Hey, I’m talking to you, poofter!»
 | 
| What I should have said was nothing, what I said was «Get lost!»
 | 
| Next thing I’m upside-down with my bike in the dust
 | 
| Spitting dirt all the way home
 | 
| Cursing the very ground which I was chewing on
 | 
| And that’s what it’s like when you’ve had your heart broken
 | 
| The world just shrugs its shoulders and keeps going
 | 
| It just moves on in all its sadness and glory
 | 
| Over dinner with a friend, I tell her my story
 | 
| And as I finally put the book back on the shelf
 | 
| She says, «Maybe it’s time you take a look at yourself»
 | 
| No one’s born an asshole, takes a lot of hard work
 | 
| But God knows I’ve worked my ass off to be a jerk
 | 
| So many hands I’ve held while wondering why I felt nothing
 | 
| And why when I let go of that hand I always start to feel something
 | 
| Like a bottle smashed against my head
 | 
| She said, «I wish you just would’ve cheated on me instead»
 | 
| And loving without loving is always the worst crime
 | 
| I know all the signs and signals cause now I’ve been on both sides
 | 
| The way you choose your words, the limpness of your hand
 | 
| I almost died when you introduced me as a friend
 | 
| «How can you call me a friend?
 | 
| If you don’t love me then please have the dignity to tell me!»
 | 
| But I never said any of that
 | 
| I just shook that hand and looked down at the doormat |