cause this ain't no fuckin commercial
i help wear the brand name off of
baby's first department store bar of soap.
white box, blue ribbon, cool, and very soft.
out of the doors, the streets of nyc
are canons of sound. the people sticking up
off of the street, out of windows, in and around
taxi cabs, yellow conductors. what could i touch?
if i stood at the end of the street and let it all hit me.
when it starts to snow push mute
and play chopin op 25.
i've always thought thought light blonde hair
had air in it. i prefer brown. now that's really something.
it must be just me, brown hair behaves just about like any other.
for instance
you don't need a rocketship to send my girlfriend to paris.
i live in amirrorika. maybe if i ever have a daughter i will name her that. with such a strange name, she'll probably feel like she has something to live up to.
rub my face on genvieve's brown fur hat
and breathe to warm my lips
and not worry about later
after all its just a kiss
put your hand on the record if you want to slow it
put your palm on my stomach, now were getting inchoate
i'm never surprised when genvieve cries
because i know she has nothing to hide
i take off her hat, set it aside
on the nightstand. take her hand,
press her head to my chest.
keep it simple, listen for breath,
the edge of my palm behind her temple
what comes next? keep it simple.
genvieve cries, closes her eyes,
i open mine, give her time.
she wipes her eyes, insists she's fine,
i get up to draw a bath, there is no thinking,
no logic, no math, no rules to break,
i watch the water run down her back.
when we get out, we take off our towels,
our breath is loud, our bodies shake,
she waits for the image in the mirror to break,
puts a fault in the things we make,
considers her stake. it's all in a grant,
i turn off the lamp so our hearts can settle
into a heightened default. we open
our eyes, the room is dark,
we close our eyes, soft words, we part,
the black is stark, my eyes are smart
i look back and glimpse her body's art
the door closes, flat lines on our heated charts.
the cold can't push my ribs apart,
i button my coat, employ a guard,
i lack the finesse, my hands are hard,
i keep them in pockets all the way to the yard.
baby's first department store bar of soap.
white box, blue ribbon, cool, and very soft.
out of the doors, the streets of nyc
are canons of sound. the people sticking up
off of the street, out of windows, in and around
taxi cabs, yellow conductors. what could i touch?
if i stood at the end of the street and let it all hit me.
when it starts to snow push mute
and play chopin op 25.
i've always thought thought light blonde hair
had air in it. i prefer brown. now that's really something.
it must be just me, brown hair behaves just about like any other.
for instance
you don't need a rocketship to send my girlfriend to paris.
i live in amirrorika. maybe if i ever have a daughter i will name her that. with such a strange name, she'll probably feel like she has something to live up to.
rub my face on genvieve's brown fur hat
and breathe to warm my lips
and not worry about later
after all its just a kiss
put your hand on the record if you want to slow it
put your palm on my stomach, now were getting inchoate
i'm never surprised when genvieve cries
because i know she has nothing to hide
i take off her hat, set it aside
on the nightstand. take her hand,
press her head to my chest.
keep it simple, listen for breath,
the edge of my palm behind her temple
what comes next? keep it simple.
genvieve cries, closes her eyes,
i open mine, give her time.
she wipes her eyes, insists she's fine,
i get up to draw a bath, there is no thinking,
no logic, no math, no rules to break,
i watch the water run down her back.
when we get out, we take off our towels,
our breath is loud, our bodies shake,
she waits for the image in the mirror to break,
puts a fault in the things we make,
considers her stake. it's all in a grant,
i turn off the lamp so our hearts can settle
into a heightened default. we open
our eyes, the room is dark,
we close our eyes, soft words, we part,
the black is stark, my eyes are smart
i look back and glimpse her body's art
the door closes, flat lines on our heated charts.
the cold can't push my ribs apart,
i button my coat, employ a guard,
i lack the finesse, my hands are hard,
i keep them in pockets all the way to the yard.