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You sent a pretty postcard |
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From a far and lonely sea |
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A dancer and a mandolin |
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They looked like you and me |
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I've been awake for hours and hours |
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I should be fast asleep |
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I lost the place and out it fell |
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Your postcard from the beach |
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Sometimes when I'm talking to myself |
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I'll swear it's all a dream |
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November babies and northern winds |
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The scars you said I'd keep |
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But if you'd never come here |
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You'd never have had to leave |
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And all the bones upon the beach |
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They all sung out to me |
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Grab it into your hands |
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Don't let go and grab it |
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But look the way it curls |
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Out of your fingers |
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I used to wish I was the cigarette |
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Inside your mouth |
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You'd roll me up and breathe me in |
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But then you'd blow me out |
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And I would float and curl my way |
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A vapour trail the end of me |
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All that's left a place that's kept |
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Your postcard from the sea |
