I want to fall in love
with a girl named Claire.
she has to be the kind
with an empty stare,
the smell of muddy roses
in her yellow hair,
she has to be the definition
of the word ‘mystere’.
i’d like to fall in love
with a girl named claire.
if she ever buys cake
she must refuse to share,
she has to always hold my hand
but claim we’re not a pair
and her smile must cast towards me
the most perilous glare.
i have to fall in love
with a girl named claire.
her folks will send her to me
with a sign that reads ‘beware’.
when watching children die
she must exclaim 'why would i care?’
she’ll leave me naked, hungry, oh,
and all alone and bare, oh,
i can’t wait to fall in love
with this hurt called claire.
—  Jim Jarmusch, 1972