If you could paint her, she'd be a Picasso.
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She's got a few things out of place.
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Like when she smiles, it's slightly out of line.
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It's half awkward, yet half grace.
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While you're unraveling this mystery
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Of where she fits in time and space,
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She'll drag you into this lover's tale,
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Though she will not give a reason.
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And if you fight her tooth and nail,
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She won't give up until you lose...
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She wants the last word, the last dance.
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She thinks it's absurd that you believe in second chances.
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You're a lost cause, yet here she is.
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And that's the mystery. Here she is...
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She's a poem by Ferlinghetti.
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She's the angel from a nursery rhyme
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She'll set you a place at your table,
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Then fill your cup till you're drunk on red wine.
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She don't believe in stars or in miracles,
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But she reads your horoscope daily.
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And if your response is too cynical,
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She'll say, "Who are you to know?"
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While you're unraveling this mystery
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Of where she fits in time and space,
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She'll memorize your history
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And decorate your place.
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Here She Is
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| Ellis Paul |
