I've cried, and you'd think I'd be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine the rest of my life.
I sing and drink and sleep on floors And try hard not to be annoyed By all these people worrying about me. So when I'm suffering through some awful drive, You occasionally cross my mind. It's my hidden hope that you are still among them. Well, are you?
So I want to get myself attached to something bolted down, So that these winds of circumstance won't keep blowing me around. From when I land to when I leave there is enough time to sleep and sing. I keep running around, when all I want is to lay motionless.
Now I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers and laid entwined together on a bed of clover and left there to sleep, left there to dream of their happiness.
I wanna be a shower in the morning That wakes you up and makes you clean I know I'm just the weather against your window As you sleep through a winter's dream
Let the poets cry themselves to sleep, and all their tearful words will turn back into steam.
They say it's better to bury your sadness in a graveyard or garden that waits for the spring to wake from its sleep and burst into green.
My parents ask if I'm alright; I say I've just been staying up too late. I need to sleep I need to do something! To get this awful weight up off my chest, keep her pretty ghost from chasing me!
Well let the poets cry themselves to sleep And all their tearful words will turn back into steam
There's a cat in the window, of the house of my lover. Well she sleeps there alone now, or perhaps with another. Oh I try no to think about that, I try not to think at all!