A postcard of apple cores on spit strained wooded floors
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I spent an evening getting practice looking bored
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And there's a leaf on the sill but it won't be there tomorrow
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Just some memory that I made it never really goes the way I planned it to
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I'll tell it like you want all parts appeal and none that don't
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I love your face the way it moves your murky mouth your eyelid brooms
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And I'm feeling that cobweb apprehension
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You're taking pictures of me as I fall down the stairs
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And it seems so awful if not for my glasses and hair
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You say I'm your white cast kid, I was born for your cares
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Why you gotta label me now, why, why now?
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So I opened up the door I know now what you're for
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But still not who you are
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So who, who, tell me who
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And then you leaned into me and whispered rather softly
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"Your feet don't fit the branch"
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It never really goes the way I planned it to
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I'll tell it like you want all parts appeal and none that won't
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Like worthless words that you spit out, the foaming garbage of your mouth
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I'm always listening; I go rummaging through a dumpster of speech
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You're taking pictures of me as I fall down the stairs
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It seems so awful but this never happened who cares
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I'm your T.V. taught child; I'm your sweetest affair
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When the alarm clock goes off you will disappear
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But I loved your face the way it moved your murky mouth your eyelid brooms
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-----------------
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If Not For My Glasses
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| Dear and the Headlights |
