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Pull our pockets inside out |
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Our hips have grown wings |
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With a block and tackle or dumbwaiter |
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We'll hoist ourselves up with strings |
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And if someone were to pull and tug |
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It would only make us fly |
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And once our pockets think they're wings |
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We're guaranteed to fly |
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We'll flutter for change |
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Collecting strangers |
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But they'll all look the same |
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So let's float away for good |
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The fighters aren't fighting |
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They're just dancing round the ring |
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And so their butterflies have been let off |
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They're in the alley, down the street |
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They're rallying in cardboard boxes |
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They're trying to fight the rain |
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They're trusting their caterpillar instincts |
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That they'll soon be flown away |
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They'll flutter for change |
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And warm up their wings |
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Cause today is only today |
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Soon they'll float away for good |
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And I remember everything |
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So I'll remember everything |
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And I remember everything |
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So I'll remember everything |
