Michael wakes you up so sweet he takes your up streets and rain comes down
|
Side walk, walk it's not the type and under this bright agree back down
|
There's oil and it's bottles in taffeta patters
|
That run down the drive
|
He call the arrangement that might be cool with that change
|
Then the stick that he fall
|
|
Michael from mountains
|
Go away to to
|
No one will know you
|
Someday I may know you very well
|
|
Michael brings me to a park
|
He sings and its dark when the clouds come by
|
Yellow slickers up on swings
|
Like puppets on strings hanging in the sky
|
They'll splash home to suppers in wallpapered kitchens
|
Their mothers will scold
|
But Michael will hold you
|
To keep away cold till the sidewalks are dry
|
Michael from mountains
|
Go away to to
|
No one will know you
|
Someday I may know you very well
|
|
Michael leads you up the stairs
|
He needs you to care and you know that you do
|
Cats come crying to the key
|
And dry you will be in a towel or two
|
There's rain in the window
|
There's sun in the painting and that's smiles on the wall
|
You want to know all
|
But his mountains have called so you never do
|
|
Michael from mountains
|
Go away to to
|
No one will know you
|
Someday I may know you very well
|
|
-----------------
|
Michael from the Mountains
|
| Joni Mitchell |
