I wrote a song about girls
And what they mean to me
Like a long winter
Interrupted with a day of spring
I don’t like the way
That you think of me
Though it’s wild
I wrote a song about love
Though it’s not right or fair
To think of one
That better than the fair.
It’s not right
To think of me that way
Though it’s true.
I can wait bitter for an afternoon
I stop the winter coming through my front room
I hear some saying about love and girls
Is it true?
I may be better when I’m seasoned on the streets
I’m no winner but I’m six feet deep.
It’s not right
To think of me that way
Though it’s true.
There are 300 gardens
maintained by ghosts in this town
They don’t water or feed
just sitting down
I will march through the city
with no blatant truth
On my side.
Tear down the frescos
you feel that put you down
There’s always a basterd girl
for an alabaster town
Do you always feel this way
Even though everything you know
Is a lie?
I can wait bitter for an afternoon
I stop the winter coming through my front room
I hear some saying about love and girls
Is it true?
I may be better when I’m seasoned on the streets
I’m no winner but I’m six feet deep.
It’s not right
To think of me that way
Though it’s true.
