Abigail
I clutched you to my side like a broken wing
You shivered when you cried like a little nerve
I thought I was in love, until I broke the thing
That gave me so much more than I deserve
Sweet Abigail, soft and frail, Abigail I’ve done you wrong.
I turned away from you like a calendar page
Overnight I knew your time was done
You hunted for my reasons, but none of them were decent
I’m sorry, open season has begun
Sweet Abigail, soft and frail, Abigail I’ve done you wrong.
I deserve to be hunted down, hunted down and killed
The stove is on, the water’s hot, the pot’s already filled
Abigail is on the trail; I deserve to be gutted and flayed—
Pluck my skin, put me in, and cook me on the flames
Sweet Abigail, soft and frail, I’ve done you wrong.
You reduced me to writing songs about injured birds
Introduced me to the beast that I’ve become
You hunted for my reasons, but none of them were decent
I’m sorry, open season has begun