| My barricades feel open now, so I leave behind the bridge
|
| With a flag with a western wave and a simple stitch to fix
|
| I’ll hold myself together now as you take me through the ditch
|
| Where the sky crumbled on the floors
|
| You’ll sweep me off of my back
|
| You’ll save me from the rumble you spoke of before
|
| And the one who saved you
|
| Ain’t the one who you were banking on
|
| When your highs were cutting through my lows
|
| Enter through the side door please, I know you wish to speak to me
|
| Of old neglected promises of stolen souvenirs
|
| How you could hear the ocean, but you could not see the breeze
|
| When the sky was setting on a Buenos Aires beach
|
| And the sun was shining on the one I wish to see
|
| And the plates are shifting under land, you’re beatin' on the floors
|
| You’re sweeping on the same ones you’ve been sweeping on
|
| You’re the one that saved me and the one that I was banking on
|
| When your highs were cutting through my lows
|
| So hold me up against the tree
|
| You used to measure me in feet
|
| And set your sights to green
|
| And all the crosstown boys and on
|
| They show up with the sea shells in their eyes
|
| But you know what they want
|
| By the glow of your skin
|
| And you can overdress for him
|
| But it will soon grow old
|
| Well this winter it came to pass
|
| So much slower than the last
|
| And now there’s nothing left to grasp
|
| In our hands and nothing left to catch
|
| So they’ll speak of the past
|
| In the future perfect tense
|
| Of places we will go
|
| Before we grow old |