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Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning |
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When you start to raise your head? |
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And does he sing to you incessantly |
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From the space between your bed and walls? |
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Does he walk around all day at school |
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With his feet inside your shoes? |
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Looking down every few steps |
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To pretend he walks with you |
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Oh, does he know that place below |
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Your neck that is your favorite to be touched? |
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And does he cry through broken sentences |
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That I love you far too much? |
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Does he lay awake listening to your breath? |
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Worried, you smoke too many cigarettes |
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Is he coughing now on a bathroom floor? |
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For every speck of tile there's |
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A thousand more you won't ever see |
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But you must hold inside yourself eternally |
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Well I drag your ghost across the country |
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And we plotted out my death |
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In every city, memories would whisper |
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Here is where you rest |
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I was determined in Chicago |
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But I dug my teeth into my knees |
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And I settled for a telephone |
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And sang into your machine |
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You are my sunshine |
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My only sunshine |
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You are my sunshine |
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My only sunshine |
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And I kissed a girl with a broken jaw |
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That her father gave to her |
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She had eyes bright enough |
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To burn me they reminded me of yours |
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And in a story told she was a little girl |
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In a red-rouge, sun-bruised field |
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And there were rows of ripe tomatoes |
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Where a secret was concealed |
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And it rose like thunder |
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Clapped under our hands |
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And it stretched for centuries |
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To a diary entry's end |
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Where I wrote |
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You make me happy, oh when skies are gray |
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You make me happy, oh when skies are gray |
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And gray, and gray |
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Well the clock's heart it hangs |
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Inside it's open chest with it's hands stretched |
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Towards the calendar hanging itself |
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But I will not weep for those dying days |
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For all the ones who've left |
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There's a few that stayed |
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And they found me here and pulled me |
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From the grass where I was laid |
