歌词
A starched plaid shirt
It's black buttoned up to your neck
And you mourn the loss of the things that you can't get back
Make sure the lighting is right in the frame by the box
Your hair is tangled and taped up in untypical knots
And you mourn the loss of your equivocal self
You're resting past refrains of hope
You get well
You strut the cards
You hum melodies
Songs that you heard before
Familiar lines of forgotten words of dying young
Your brother's songs say you're a vertigo and counting wrong
But this doesn't feel like falling
No, this doesn't feel like falling
And still you face up in a smaller bed
Surrounded by friends that you never met
Who talk about food and the places you've been
They ask "Have you found God?"
"Have you seen him?"
I'm sure
He'll love the stories you tell
You're resting past refrains of hope
You get well
You strut the cards
You hum melodies
