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Here's to you, the same chords that |
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I stoleFrom a song that |
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I once heard |
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The Same melody |
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I borrowed from the void |
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I'd rather observe than structure a narrative |
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The characters are thin; the plot does not develop |
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It ends where it begins |
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It's on the screen, in paperbacks |
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In section 8 and cul-de-sacs |
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Electro haikus and drunk sonnets |
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Are moving me along |
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You cut my hair |
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You left red ink everywhere |
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Do my hands tell a story? |
| [2x] |
Is it boring? |
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What I'd give to force your sigh |
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What I'd give to see you cry |
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What I'd give for your caress |
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To see your blue cotton dress |
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Balled up on the floor |
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Certain memories are the problem |
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Certain drunken lines are the shame |
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Seven hundred miles and four years |
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I can't fight the flame; it burns |
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You cut my hair |
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You left red ink everywhere |
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Do my hands tell a story? |
| [2x] |
Is it boring? |
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Was I wishing on satellites? |
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Tell me how you've been doing that trick |
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I'm just wishing the flame away |
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Now I'm wishing the flame away |
