Like some sepulchral tableau
|
I sit frozen holding your hand
|
Though I’m trying to think only
|
Positive thoughts I understand
|
|
That place tomorrow
|
May not be there tomorrow, then
|
Your eviscerating, suffering will end
|
Oh, will you ever be yourself again?
|
|
[Chorus:]
|
Girl with the flu, I hear the death rheum
|
She ain’t doin' well
|
Her eyes they seem cast and fatherless
|
Her psyche's cracked or
|
Anyhow, She ain't speakin' now
|
|
Nightfall, like some leaden sea
|
Dilates as I hold vigil by your bed
|
Watching the pillowcase soaking with sweat around your head
|
|
I can't repel this sneaking veil of morbidity
|
That's disfiguring the serif of your face
|
Oh, the organism's been debased
|
|
[Chorus]
|
|
You scream that the books
|
Are fallin' off of the shelf onto you
|
But I can see them
|
Your hallucination ravings
|
I'm writing them all down so
|
You can see read them
|
When your mind no longer aches
|
And your febrility breaks
|
|
Girl with the flu, I hear the death rheum
|
She ain’t doin' well
|
Her eyes they seem cast and fatherless
|
Her psyche's shattered or
|
Anyhow, she ain't speakin' now
|
|
-----------------
|
She Ain't Speakin' Now
|
| Of Montreal |
