| In the kitchen
|
| The remnants of the sun
|
| And the beginning
|
| And an ending just begun
|
| And a story
|
| No one will believe
|
| And a teardrop
|
| Tastes just like the sea
|
| On the horizon
|
| The locomotive moves through the Great Plains
|
| On a windy afternoon
|
| She placed her penny
|
| On the tracks before it came
|
| She was Comanche
|
| Before we had our way
|
| Off the exit
|
| The shanties and the stores
|
| And the garbage
|
| Piled up against the fence
|
| Of the schoolyard
|
| Where we all were sent to learn
|
| But she dropped out
|
| To help her mother pay the bills
|
| There’s a poet
|
| No one thinks is very good
|
| But I like her
|
| The way that nothing rhymes
|
| She sits there
|
| In the corner all alone
|
| I wish the whole world
|
| Could hear it just like me
|
| In the kitchen
|
| The remnants of the sun
|
| And the beginning
|
| And an ending just begun
|
| And a story
|
| No one will believe
|
| And a teardrop
|
| Tastes just like the sea
|
| Sometimes I wish I didn’t care
|
| Sometimes I wish I didn’t care
|
| Sometimes I wish I didn’t care
|
| Sometimes I wish I didn’t care
|
| Sometimes I wish I didn’t care
|
| Sometimes I wish I didn’t care
|
| Sometimes I wish I didn’t care
|
| Sometimes I wish I didn’t care
|
| Sometimes I wish I didn’t care |