| When she knew they had lost each other
|
| She came back from LA and she fucked his brother
|
| Now she’s one more in the running for deciphering his tongue
|
| Like that hieroglyphic battle by Champollion and Young
|
| But he’s a stone, whoa
|
| Whoa
|
| He’s a stone
|
| Whoa
|
| I am cryptic as the ages
|
| Been writing riddles since I first put ink to pages
|
| But I know that love is music if we play with open hands
|
| And my love won’t need to read the score, he’ll see and understand
|
| That I’m a stone, whoa
|
| Whoa
|
| I’m a stone
|
| Whoa
|
| We’re a stone’s throw away from our own language
|
| And if I wasn’t the Victorian type, I would tell him so
|
| Vanquish any doubt
|
| But there’s something about competition that leaves a bad taste in my mouth
|
| We’re a stone
|
| We’re a stone’s throw
|
| He is the sun god alive from the tomb
|
| They all get lit up when he walks into the room
|
| But music’s the real tones, it’s timeless and free
|
| And stretches from Memphis, Egypt to Memphis, Tennessee
|
| And we’re a stone, whoa
|
| Whoa
|
| We’re a stone, whoa
|
| Whoa
|
| We’re a stone’s throw away from our own language
|
| And if I wasn’t the Victorian type, I would tell him so
|
| Vanquish any doubt
|
| But there’s something about competition that leaves a bad taste in my mouth
|
| We’re a stone, we’re a stone’s throw
|
| Yeah whoa yeah whoa
|
| Hidden in time who we are
|
| Written in stars
|
| When we know we’ve found each other
|
| I will love you more for all your wounded lovers
|
| But we’ll leave them in a moon and daisy garden to their own
|
| Excavations with a compass and we’ll hope they make it home
|
| 'Cause we’re a stone
|
| Whoa
|
| We’re a stone
|
| Whoa
|
| We’re a stone’s throw away from our own language
|
| And if I wasn’t the Victorian type, I would, I would tell him so
|
| Vanquish any doubt
|
| But there’s something about competition that leaves a bad taste in my mouth
|
| We’re a stone
|
| We’re a stone’s throw
|
| Oh, oh |