|
She stole my daydreams |
|
She stole my air guitar |
|
[Exterior. Man on lawn, alone at dawn.] |
|
Packed the typewriter |
|
And drove off in her car |
|
[A battered automobile drives past state line sign.] |
|
And now I know that I'll rue the day |
|
I let her get away |
|
I need a haircut |
|
I've got myself to blame |
|
[A gloved hand spins a combination dial quickly opening a large wall safe.] |
|
He wasn't so fine |
|
To my beginner's mind |
|
[Motel. The other man, severe, refined.] |
|
But with that big talk |
|
I should have seen the signs |
|
[Woman enters and they embrace. He packs duct tape, rope.] |
|
And right on her he was fixing his aim |
|
He pushed me out of frame |
|
I need new head shots |
|
I've got myself to blame |
|
[She spins her ring to hide the diamond in her hand and drops a gun into a small beaded purse.] |
|
Know the diff between a script and a spec |
|
It's a test, just the stage directions left |
|
And no camera angles to use, mm-hmm |
|
A novice script may seem strange in this format |
|
But like any other business |
|
It's a standard that the writer gets used to, aw-huh |
|
My scenes are cut out |
|
I'm just on speaker phone |
|
For exposition |
|
I'm out here on my own |
|
And as the night falls on this sleepy town |
|
The iris closes down |
|
I missed my close-up |
|
I've got myself to blame |
|
I've got myself to blame |
|
I've got myself to blame |
