The Cigarrettes lament
‘My newspaper sweetheart, Cellophane dreamer, Conducting raindrops on the pane. Don’t leave me behind, I can’t stand to say goodbye. It’s a blissful dew on an unmade lawn and you're telling me stories of the past. Sleep tight and wish me well, kiss the dreamer on the hand, say adieu to the state we’re in. Concoctions will froth to the east where the ground doesn’t touch my feet and liquid night is cemented in my glass. Read the words you can read and keep singing the songs that you don’t believe. Write me a letter, that way the words will last forever. Make wishes on the lee when you’re hiding from the breeze and pluck only the longest and most perfect stems of grass from the earth. Again I implore you, Wish me well, as a friend but take off running if you can. Don’t let the weight of memory keep you here. Wet your comb and have a drink, Let the world around you sink. There’s a tomorrow and you’ll be in it.’
She’s looking back as she pulls away in the longest greyest train I have ever seen. As she’s easing out of the station I’m realising that it’s the last time I’m ever going to see her face. What did I was going to happen when I called her name? Well I once read her poetry and she said “I don’t think it’s for me” Then, later, listening to me sing she’s telling me how the lyrics move her. Make that make sense.
Slice your thumb on the dull side of the blade. Write on napkins and wipe up spilled milk with all your best ideas. Start Smoking like a real creative does. Take in Tar, into full black lungs. You only smoke because your hero does, and If it’s good enough for him, then it’s good enough for us. I stopped smoking cigarettes so she could kiss my fingers again.
Does affection ever fade?
Well my eyes were dry before you said her name...
‘My newspaper sweetheart, Cellophane dreamer, Conducting raindrops on the pane. Don’t leave me behind, I can’t stand to say goodbye. It’s a blissful dew on an unmade lawn and you're telling me stories of the past. Sleep tight and wish me well, kiss the dreamer on the hand, say adieu to the state we’re in. Concoctions will froth to the east where the ground doesn’t touch my feet and liquid night is cemented in my glass. Read the words you can read and keep singing the songs that you don’t believe. Write me a letter, that way the words will last forever. Make wishes on the lee when you’re hiding from the breeze and pluck only the longest and most perfect stems of grass from the earth. Again I implore you, Wish me well, as a friend but take off running if you can. Don’t let the weight of memory keep you here. Wet your comb and have a drink, Let the world around you sink. There’s a tomorrow and you’ll be in it.’
She’s looking back as she pulls away in the longest greyest train I have ever seen. As she’s easing out of the station I’m realising that it’s the last time I’m ever going to see her face. What did I was going to happen when I called her name? Well I once read her poetry and she said “I don’t think it’s for me” Then, later, listening to me sing she’s telling me how the lyrics move her. Make that make sense.
Slice your thumb on the dull side of the blade. Write on napkins and wipe up spilled milk with all your best ideas. Start Smoking like a real creative does. Take in Tar, into full black lungs. You only smoke because your hero does, and If it’s good enough for him, then it’s good enough for us. I stopped smoking cigarettes so she could kiss my fingers again.
Does affection ever fade?
Well my eyes were dry before you said her name...