I'm sitting up late tonight,
writing down the thoughts
that keep me from sleep.

My heart is full of pain.
You're out on the town with your new love.

I hope she gets a run in her pantyhose
and the zipper on her new dress breaks;
or maybe you find out her breasts are fake.

I hope your face breaks out in zits
and she thinks your breath stinks;
and I hope you bend down and rip the seat of your pants.

When you get to the restaurant I hope the food is cold,
I hope the wine is sour and the bread has mold
(a case of food poisoning would be neat).
And I hope when you start dancing she throws up on your feet.

If all these things could happen,
maybe I could sleep.
And with a rested mind
I could wish for some more things to happen to you . . .

But it still won't be enough.