| Down the street I’ll park the car
|
| You go ahead and meet me inside
|
| There’s no reason for us to both go through with it
|
| On the way I’ll call about this guitar
|
| Don’t want to sell, but I’m in the red
|
| Plus I just don’t know what to do with it
|
| Had I been more awake this morning
|
| I would have seen the coming warnings
|
| The calendar, the pens, Sunday on the phone again
|
| Today we’d stand alone with pines
|
| Instaed of with produce, in endless lines
|
| How does preparation for the week require the entire weekend?
|
| Shop for gloves among evergreens
|
| Long woolen skins in unsubtle themes
|
| And entire season on a credit card
|
| Observing loves, rare friendships seen
|
| Manifest their greatest deeds
|
| With facing feet from numbered dressing stalls
|
| Had I been more awake this morning
|
| I could have seen the coming warnings
|
| The calendar, the pens, Sunday on the phone again
|
| Today we’d stand alone with pines
|
| Instaed of with produce, in restless lines
|
| How does preparation for the week require the entire weekend?
|
| The next time you say to me
|
| «This week’s just a day too long»
|
| Well your days are getting shorter, and as a gentle reminder
|
| Under boots tan needles break
|
| Every Sunday I pray you’ll see
|
| That you’re doing this thing all wrong
|
| Because down on the corner, among the pines
|
| Hopelessly small and still, they defy the rake
|
| Every Sunday I pray you’ll see
|
| That you’re doing this thing all wrong
|
| Because down on the corner, among the pines
|
| Hopelessly small and still, they defy the rake |