I sleep on my back | |
Cause it's good for the spine | |
And coffin rehearsal. | |
I know a psychic who | |
Reads her own palm and | |
Her findings are personal. | |
She keeps her fists shut tight | |
And she sleeps on her side. | |
Well maybe she knows | |
Something I don't know. | |
But I am still alive, in love, | |
And wide-eyed in my time; | |
Not a mummy shrinking in its cloths. | |
Your cat clawed out my eyes | |
While I was distracted by your smile. | |
And now my sockets sit | |
Like empty catcher's mitts waiting. | |
And you ask me is there | |
Anybody else that I’m dating. | |
‘Anna & Nathan’ | |
Anna, I’m patient, | |
But your painted pony is fading, | |
Lost like a snakeskin in high grass | |
And out there thrashing like a pet | |
Bird caught in a jet stream, that's me. | |
You counting blessings ‘cause | |
Your net worth ought to be less | |
Cream in your best dreams. | |
But God put a song on my palm | |
That you can't read | |
I’m lucky to be under | |
This same sky that held | |
The exhale from your first breath | |
Like a ring on a pillow of clouds | |
But you my tongue may stutter | |
But my gift heart screams clear and swells | |
To burst between the wrapped lengths | |
Of its baved ribbon cell. | |
But I am still alive, in love, | |
And wide-eyed in my time; | |
Not a mummy shrinking in its cloths. | |
There's a moth flock in my gut growing; | |
A tug at my groin like tides trying | |
To pull moon towards them, | |
I can't ignore them. | |
And when we say your name | |
Our tongues catch flame. | |
And you wonder why we ain't | |
Got nothing to say. | |
‘Anna & Nathan’ | |
(At your house) | |
Anna, I’m patient, | |
(Embroidered on a kitchen towel.) | |
But your painted pony is fading, | |
Lost like a snakeskin in high grass. | |
And out there thrashing like a pet | |
Bird caught in a jet-stream, that's me | |
You’re counting blessings ‘cause | |
Your net worth ought to be | |
Less cream in your best dreams. | |
But God put a song on my palm | |
That you can't read | |
I’ll be embalmed | |
With it long before you'll see |
I sleep on my back | |
Cause it' s good for the spine | |
And coffin rehearsal. | |
I know a psychic who | |
Reads her own palm and | |
Her findings are personal. | |
She keeps her fists shut tight | |
And she sleeps on her side. | |
Well maybe she knows | |
Something I don' t know. | |
But I am still alive, in love, | |
And wideeyed in my time | |
Not a mummy shrinking in its cloths. | |
Your cat clawed out my eyes | |
While I was distracted by your smile. | |
And now my sockets sit | |
Like empty catcher' s mitts waiting. | |
And you ask me is there | |
Anybody else that I' m dating. | |
' Anna Nathan' | |
Anna, I' m patient, | |
But your painted pony is fading, | |
Lost like a snakeskin in high grass | |
And out there thrashing like a pet | |
Bird caught in a jet stream, that' s me. | |
You counting blessings ' cause | |
Your net worth ought to be less | |
Cream in your best dreams. | |
But God put a song on my palm | |
That you can' t read | |
I' m lucky to be under | |
This same sky that held | |
The exhale from your first breath | |
Like a ring on a pillow of clouds | |
But you my tongue may stutter | |
But my gift heart screams clear and swells | |
To burst between the wrapped lengths | |
Of its baved ribbon cell. | |
But I am still alive, in love, | |
And wideeyed in my time | |
Not a mummy shrinking in its cloths. | |
There' s a moth flock in my gut growing | |
A tug at my groin like tides trying | |
To pull moon towards them, | |
I can' t ignore them. | |
And when we say your name | |
Our tongues catch flame. | |
And you wonder why we ain' t | |
Got nothing to say. | |
' Anna Nathan' | |
At your house | |
Anna, I' m patient, | |
Embroidered on a kitchen towel. | |
But your painted pony is fading, | |
Lost like a snakeskin in high grass. | |
And out there thrashing like a pet | |
Bird caught in a jetstream, that' s me | |
You' re counting blessings ' cause | |
Your net worth ought to be | |
Less cream in your best dreams. | |
But God put a song on my palm | |
That you can' t read | |
I' ll be embalmed | |
With it long before you' ll see |
I sleep on my back | |
Cause it' s good for the spine | |
And coffin rehearsal. | |
I know a psychic who | |
Reads her own palm and | |
Her findings are personal. | |
She keeps her fists shut tight | |
And she sleeps on her side. | |
Well maybe she knows | |
Something I don' t know. | |
But I am still alive, in love, | |
And wideeyed in my time | |
Not a mummy shrinking in its cloths. | |
Your cat clawed out my eyes | |
While I was distracted by your smile. | |
And now my sockets sit | |
Like empty catcher' s mitts waiting. | |
And you ask me is there | |
Anybody else that I' m dating. | |
' Anna Nathan' | |
Anna, I' m patient, | |
But your painted pony is fading, | |
Lost like a snakeskin in high grass | |
And out there thrashing like a pet | |
Bird caught in a jet stream, that' s me. | |
You counting blessings ' cause | |
Your net worth ought to be less | |
Cream in your best dreams. | |
But God put a song on my palm | |
That you can' t read | |
I' m lucky to be under | |
This same sky that held | |
The exhale from your first breath | |
Like a ring on a pillow of clouds | |
But you my tongue may stutter | |
But my gift heart screams clear and swells | |
To burst between the wrapped lengths | |
Of its baved ribbon cell. | |
But I am still alive, in love, | |
And wideeyed in my time | |
Not a mummy shrinking in its cloths. | |
There' s a moth flock in my gut growing | |
A tug at my groin like tides trying | |
To pull moon towards them, | |
I can' t ignore them. | |
And when we say your name | |
Our tongues catch flame. | |
And you wonder why we ain' t | |
Got nothing to say. | |
' Anna Nathan' | |
At your house | |
Anna, I' m patient, | |
Embroidered on a kitchen towel. | |
But your painted pony is fading, | |
Lost like a snakeskin in high grass. | |
And out there thrashing like a pet | |
Bird caught in a jetstream, that' s me | |
You' re counting blessings ' cause | |
Your net worth ought to be | |
Less cream in your best dreams. | |
But God put a song on my palm | |
That you can' t read | |
I' ll be embalmed | |
With it long before you' ll see |