I am thinking it's a sign that the freckles
|
In our eyes are mirror images and when
|
We kiss they're perfectly aligned
|
And I have to speculate that God himself
|
Did make us into corresponding shapes like
|
Puzzle pieces from the clay
|
And true, it may seem like a stretch, but
|
Its thoughts like this that catch my troubled
|
Head when you're away when I am missing you to death
|
When you are out there on the road for
|
Several weeks of shows and when you scan
|
The radio, I hope this song will guide you home
|
|
They will see us waving from such great
|
Heights, 'come down now,' they'll say
|
But everything looks perfect from far away,
|
'come down now,' but we'll stay...
|
|
I tried my best to leave this all on your
|
Machine but the persistent beat it sounded
|
Thin upon listening
|
And that frankly will not fly. You will hear
|
The shrillest highs and lowest lows with
|
The windows down when this is guiding you home
|
|
-----------------
|
Such Great Heights
|
| The Postal Service |
