| If I mistook
|
| The sun for a mango
|
| I’d fly up there and reach for it too
|
| It’s the story of something older
|
| And bigger than me and you
|
| And you told it
|
| In a letter
|
| In the form of an evergreen cassette
|
| And I played it
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| In the morning
|
| Till after the sun would set
|
| See, mother I believe
|
| That half of everything I hear is true
|
| Between you and me
|
| I believe the anecdotes too
|
| In the veranda
|
| In the midnight heat
|
| Cousins and I would wait for the rain
|
| Singing songs about America
|
| And then the first drops came
|
| So don’t worry
|
| Even though you were
|
| Oceans and continents away
|
| I heard evergreen hits, lullabies
|
| And everything you had to say
|
| See, mother I believe
|
| That half of everything I hear is true
|
| Between you and me
|
| I believe the anecdotes too
|
| If they get you through
|
| If time, time could be bent with the drop of a tear
|
| You’d see it rained in our house for a year
|
| This is the sound of the beating you’d hear
|
| All the tapes we’ve taped over all of our hopes and our fears
|
| The open veranda’s been flooding for years
|
| I always hope that I’d see you here
|
| But time, time can’t be bent with the drop a tear
|
| And though you say you missed out all of those years
|
| Your voice on the tapes always kept us near
|
| See, mother I believe
|
| That half of everything I hear is true
|
| Between you and me
|
| I believe in everything you do |