Little Foxglove
You asked me why I paint yellow now.
I said every day's a starry night
when you're about that blue pill life.
Every day runs like clockwork now.
Took home the girl on ones and twos,
her touch was bland as arrowroot.
Don't you worry about me now.
Only thirty-five I ever shot,
we wore white gloves and held our Scotch.
(x) You know I only have ears for you.
Listen, little foxglove.
Listen, little foxglove.
It's the truth.
What's a moth to a flower, though?
My bandage always was as thin
and half as tough as onion skin.
What's a mouth to a monster, though?
I kissed the girl on Hackford St.
just to sharpen our eyeteeth.
(x)
(Don't you worry about me now.
The only thing I'll ever hang's
your photograph in wooden frames.)
I said every day's a starry night
when you're about that blue pill life.
Every day runs like clockwork now.
Took home the girl on ones and twos,
her touch was bland as arrowroot.
Don't you worry about me now.
Only thirty-five I ever shot,
we wore white gloves and held our Scotch.
(x) You know I only have ears for you.
Listen, little foxglove.
Listen, little foxglove.
It's the truth.
What's a moth to a flower, though?
My bandage always was as thin
and half as tough as onion skin.
What's a mouth to a monster, though?
I kissed the girl on Hackford St.
just to sharpen our eyeteeth.
(x)
(Don't you worry about me now.
The only thing I'll ever hang's
your photograph in wooden frames.)