|
I would describe myself |
|
As the landscape I buried |
|
My mother's face |
|
As she carried me |
|
How her water raged and emptied |
|
I would describe myself |
|
As the colourfield I married |
|
My New York pages |
|
How they prepared my sheets |
|
And the dirges caged and cared for me |
|
Dry your eyes |
|
Those tears are all you're given |
|
It's no surprise now |
|
Your heaven's what you're living in |
|
Whenever autie moves around |
|
Her dress makes a curious sound |
|
They trail behind her up the floor |
|
And trundle after through the door |
|
Dry your eyes |
|
Those tears are all you're given |
|
It's no surprise now |
|
Your heaven's what you're living in |
|
Dry your eyes |
|
Those tears are all you're given |
|
It's no surprise now |
|
Your heaven's what you're living in |
