Pull down the shades, let's kill the morning Let's kill the morning, let it die Well, your eyes flash out a warning There will be another morning, afternoon
Auntie Alice, where are you now? We rung your number and they called it "disconnected." In a dream you come sailing out of a pool of deep blue water.
What gives this mess some grace Unless it's kicks, man Unless it's fiction Unless it's sweat or it's songs What hits against this chest Unless it's a
Relax, no song is written It's nothing you thought of yourself It's just a ghost, came unbidden To this house This infection gets stronger every year
I'm the band in a show ?Bout a man holding hands with his wife On a therapist couch with his face to the ground After fucking around countless nights
Sam, bless him, has died and left this home, the woodchucks running wild, the bushes overgrown. Slip unseen into the skein of trees, slide through dusky
The river is deep and the river is wide, and the girl that I love is on the other side. She wants to move to Kansas City: a??Move, pretty baby, where
There's no beast, obviously. The floor just creaks, obviously. The morning with coffee was snowy and sweet, and there was this small, snow-white dog that
Let fall your soft and swaying skirt Let fall your shoes, let fall your shirt I'm not the lady-killing sort Enough to hurt a girl in port Marie's gone
I live in a building where nobody knows me I go to bed early, I sleep in my clothes At night I hear screaming down in the street I dream that I'm slipping
Why must happy hearts break so hard, leave you curled up in the back seat of a car, staring up at the windshield? When will broken hearts learn how to
Dear Mother, we've all got bad days, and I know you'll understand. Where we open up a foreign door with a pair of foreign hands. Where we find ourselves
You can wash out your lying eyes in the bathroom down the hall. I guess I shouldn't be surprised. I guess I didn't know you at all. I can picture you
Home is where beds are made and butter is added to toast. On a cold afternoon you can float room to room like a ghost. Take the crA?che out and argue
the water it stared back. The night it fell from tangles of the branches on the shore as it had on Okkervil River before. Down by Okkervil River's cigarettes
Kathy Keller's only daughter, I've been bad, but I'm getting better. I seen you dancing with another man and he was holding your hand, but all dances
