You accuse me of fancy talk. When I'm just trying to find my words. You've got a funny way of saying my name. Like I just ripped it off. . These whiskey tango ghosts.
You're in the room, I can feel you. I don't want to, then I do. I hear the voices of the graces in here. Swimming around. Up in the corners of our room.
This perfect day we make our way to the end of it. With perfect grace I lay my head in your lap and walk away. . These days are sweet and strange. We're happy in our star scattered way, always.
What's that thing about a butterfly wing. Causing a typhoon. If it's true a wire runs through each thing we do. Then I better stay in my room. Better stay in my room.