The telephone is ringing,
it’s ringing off the wall.
I’m lying in my coffin,
appearing not too tall.
Because I’m dead to you girl,
I’ve got no life to give, no, no.
You’ve taken all that I have, honey;
why don’t you let me be?
So when I hear you ring the telephone
I say, I’ll just let you go.
And when the telephone rings on and on
I’m sure you will somehow know.
The telephone is ringing,
it’s fifty, maybe more.
My heart is in the freezer,
I’m lifeless to the core.
I’ve got no ears to hear you,
whether it’s the land line or my cell.
You might as well call the moon, honey,
or nether regions of Hell.
Persistent is the ringing telephone
but I’m gone from spiteful stings.
And I will revel in the silence now
despite unrelenting rings.
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