| Ceiling tiles are falling down
|
| Selling secrets between now
|
| And defeated pasts on last defense
|
| The walls can’t keep the warm in here
|
| This busted house of cans of beer
|
| Aluminum, some plaster and some fear
|
| There are her bones, there are the fossils
|
| There near the sewer pipe
|
| There, between floors, between wars
|
| There on a two-by-four
|
| Harmonic notes still humming from her lyre
|
| Just set my little soul on fire
|
| In the shape of my latest sin
|
| In the wake of soon moving on
|
| Though this house is crumbling down
|
| She’s whispering her last words now
|
| Did he love her there on the floor?
|
| When he pressed his mark in that knotted board, pressed an oath in that knotted
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| board
|
| Just two names, one shape, tangled minor chords
|
| A heart around their sweet accord, wrapped around their love and stored
|
| The first day, got away, then so many more
|
| A decade past, and then a score
|
| Now winter falls, decay and dark creating art showing the world just where you
|
| really are
|
| Oh sweet Louise
|
| Since eighty-three
|
| While paneling and pyramids fall down
|
| Oh, sweet Louise
|
| Now I believe
|
| In rafters in this beat-up, blue-neck town
|
| In turning tides, in me
|
| In hidden vows
|
| There are her bones, there are the fossils
|
| There near the sewer pipe…
|
| There are her bones, there are the fossils
|
| Unfinished song I complete
|
| There on his throne, here in their castle
|
| My Pygmalion ivory
|
| Here on my own, like this home
|
| The landlord collects his fee
|
| I’m growing old, I’m so alone
|
| These ceiling tiles are falling down
|
| I’m seeing what I’ve got to see
|
| Oh sweet Louise
|
| Since eighty-three
|
| While paneling and pyramids fall down
|
| Oh, sweet Louise
|
| Now I believe
|
| In rafters in a rugged Worcester town
|
| In turning tides, in me
|
| In hidden vows |