You broke your hand the night Prince died.

Pour the champagne in my hands, darling.

I’ll watch them fill.

I’ll hold them steady and try not to spill

 

Yet these knuckles will bruise over time

and skin will graze

and teeth will touch

and time and time again.

 

These nights will polish our veins

for future grudges to come

and as time takes its toll

and time and time again

 

we’ll realize,

it all stains.