1. |
Is It Strange?
02:09
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You may travel far and then go write a song
But what you sing means nothing to the leaves
You may paint the birds up in the canopies
All they ever care for is the trees
Tell me is it strange tell if it's wrong
To lose oneself when looking at the stars
You may love your man and he may love you too
But how you feel doesn't reach out very far
Drop your out of tune guitar
Think of all the things there are
That are outside of our hearts
We're the only things that die that look up at the sky
With a thought that just asks "why?"
But the wind and the rain won't wash those thoughts away
Or the tears in which we cry
Tell me is it strange...
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2. |
City Song
02:24
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When I'm all alone, I have no doubt that my ship has gone and sailed and it's sinking right now. But the people on board have swam to shore and they don't have to worry about the city no more.
And the words I said passed right through her head. She doesn't know what I'm talking about when I say the city's got to me. I want to get out.
She said, "If we stay we'll live to see better days. Where you live is like a tree. Oh, don't you know if you want to have fruit, it needs time to grow."
(Chorus)
All that's left of me is a note left for her to see saying that if she ever wants to again be mine, I'll be sitting, drinking under the pines. I will.
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3. |
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And if I come back from New Orleans, what will become of me? I'll clean my brush and then snap it in two. What use has it for me?
And if I come back from New Orleans, what will become of me? I'll rip my canvas to sew up a sail to send me out to sea.
And if I do stay in New Orleans, what will become of me? Three in the bed and the heat to my head with the sounds that never slept.
And if I enter New Orleans, what will this mean for me? I'll stay awake as the rain floods the way that will never allow me to leave.
And if I get out of New Orleans, what will become of me? My skin will wither, all shriveled and dry as all water flows to the sea.
And if I get out of New Orleans, what will become of me? I'll stop my yearning and learn to grow roots just like the mightiest of trees.
And if I come back from New Orleans, what will become of me? I'm worried it's taken me too long to see the point that I've missed.
Because the sun's in my eyes and the wind's in my hair. I'll forgotten every word that I said. So long, all gone, so long.
And I've lost it before. My taste for more. Slow the dance. I'm tripping. I'm stumbling; I fell.
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4. |
Oh, Eloise!
03:05
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Well, I was drunk, now hungover, still not completely sober and I was wondering what I was supposed to do. And my mind is pretty slaughtered and I should go get some water but instead, I will write a note to you.
I wrote "Dear Eloise, Oh, Eloise! Why'd you go and do those things to me? Eloise, Oh, Eloise! Please help me solve this mystery."
And now there's words my pen is breathing and I'm not really proofreading. My drunk head said that it'd do me just no good. And my knuckles just grew paler. I'm cursing like a sailor saying that that I never thought I would.
And I look back on last night and I try to think of anything that I did wrong.
And now the noon time is arriving and my buzz is slowly dying and I'm looking at a page of bad words. So I tore it all to shreds. I kept it all in my head and hoped my anger was not heard. Now I may be a little forgetful, but don't call me the devil. There's people for more deserving of that name. And even if you read that letter, would things ever get any better? Or would they just end up the same?
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