On the longest day. The vanishing mind. Knows not when the day ends. Who could care for you. Would could understand. In the room sealed shut. You're not what you were.
Through the gardens and fields 'neath the tall green grass. You were walking 'neath the moon while covering your tracks. Working your fingers down to the skin and stone.
There's a piano playing on the ocean floor between Havana and New Orleans. Drummin' a requiem for the dead and the souls hanging on every poet's prayer.
I hold your wrist, you bite your lip. The push becomes an embrace. I touch your face, you close your eyes. The embrace becomes a shove. I walk away, you follow too close.
Woke up on Monday and wrote you a love song, wrote you a love song. Well the pen stopped and the paper flew out the window. And the notes rang down the road.
In the afternoon of orange blossom days. Hummingbirds rest above where we lay. You say it's ok, no need to fret. The weight of it all will ease as we find.
Nights we hide between the walls and voices leading on the ground. Arms reaching out, hoping for the chance to start. . Hearts holding out waiting for the bells to.
There's a letter she keeps inside, a list of everyone she knows. Behind her closed eyes that turn her in when it's time to go. She's heading north into the haze, raise the wire and they raise the rent.