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Downstairs itâs dark most of the time
And itâs a mess
The air is stale with the smell of wine
And cigarettes
She says sheâll clean it up sometime
But she forgets
She paints her nails and draws the blinds
I draw a deeper breath
And downstairs she says
âI swear Iâll cut off all my hairâ
And every nightâs the night before
Alter a while
A breakfast bowl on the bathroom floor
A broken tile
Red-eyed she stumbles through the door
She doesnât smile
And neither do I
And this is where I live
But I know sheâs on her own
This is not my home
Upstairs itâs a different story
Every dayâs like Sunday morning
And the sun begins to shine
Thereâs a tree outside my window
Brilliant green and golden yellow
And that happiness is mine
Iâm fine
- Álbum:
- First Frost
- Warmer Corners
- Naturaliste
- Where Were We?
- Staring At The Sky
- Happy Secret
- What Bird Is That?
- The Green Bicycle Case
- Boondoggle
- Miscellaneous
- A Good Kind Of Nervous
- First Tape
- Spring a Leak
- Get-to-Bed Birds
- The Matinée Grand Prix
- Cartography for Beginners
- Midweek Midmorning
- T-Shirt Weather
- A Boy, a Girl, and a Rendezvous
- Romantic and Square Is Hip and Aware: A Matinée Tribute...