There Are Maybe Ten or Twelve (A.C. Newman)

There are maybe ten or twelve Things I could teach you After that, well, I think you're on your own And that wasn't the opening line It was the tenth or the twelfth Make of that what you will Make of that what you will Once there was a haunted loop Of your deep, fallen tears A forehead resting on a record shelf Amid moving boxes stacked I'm still waiting for the right words Make of that what you will Make of that what you will And the eyes they were A color I can't remember Which says more than the first two verses And it is the devil you know That will slam the door harder Make of that what you will Make of that what you will Make of that what you will Make of that what you will