Words are the worst way
To say what I have to say
But sometimes you can't play how you want to play
To show it well
This is one splinter
One splinter of a sentence
Both a pain and a pleasure
To try to expel
But I have to tell
All about the years of influence
And artless advice
That can still only escape in
A struggling, stilted excuse for a smile
When you're parked over on the wrong side of nowhere
No amount of nothing
Is gonna make it worthwhile
A touch, subdivided, rinsed, and sold
Before the hands have a chance to get cold
As an eyelash pries
An hour from the schedules of the uninvolved
And your sill's so-called insulation
Can only sigh at
December Sundays, unsolved
So like the transportation of the suns
You must hold steady to the ones
Who light your mornings, nights, and afternoons
If you should grow angry at the pace of chance
Don't be afraid to make some plans
For December Sundays soon
Today you missed her getting up
Once again
Boy, you've got to listen to me
Promise her you'll rise this day next year
From this very bed
From this very bed
From this very bed
Today you missed her getting up
Once again
Boy, you've got to listen to me
Promise her you'll rise this day next year
From this very bed
From this very bed
From this very bed
