Hey there, Jenny
You were the queen of the prom
You had the perfect teeth,
The perfect little dance,
The perfect little life,
And everybody loved you.
Cold, grey, November days,
You’ve got three kids now?
Isn’t that—well.
Hey, how’s that relationshi—
He wouldn’t marry you?
He just drives around in his truck?
All day?
Please, I’m not bitter
And, excuse my contempt;
You had so much going for you,
You were royalty,
And it’s just so sad to see you
Become this cliché.
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