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Songwriters: Joey Burns, John Convertino |
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Thumbtacks all spread out across your hometown state |
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A hollow tree at half mast |
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Wait until wintertime, leaves a paper trail |
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And a licorice plant that's overgrown |
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Like a cabin in the woods on a minor |
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Like a minor holiday |
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Wool rich, red plaid wool, Irish whiskey glass |
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Here comes my fine bright haired lass |
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Like a trash fire burning and burning it |
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My heart could never write, the words never fail |
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And tucked under your cap |
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And for a moment there's a stillness |
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Before the room spins again |
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A minor holiday, spin it again |
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Ride it out so you can tell |
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Wasted on the weekend, making good time with my excuse |
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Where the plot lines are like dead ends |
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Floating in her eyes at the bottom of a well |
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Floating in her eyes ride it out for a spell |
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On a minor holiday, transfer this weight |
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On a minor holiday, transfer this weight |
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Minor holiday, minor holiday |
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Oh, minor holiday, going back and forth |
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On a minor holi, minor holiday, a minor holiday |
