Lyrics

These old ways,
That I take,
Have had a funny way,
of turning everything Green.

It's my mistake,
It's not a Sunday afternoon,
You can just throw away.
I chase it until it escapes me.

You're in the air that I breathe,
till I pin you down and wear you out.
Strewn across dark, blue water till I figure out
there is nowhere left to hide.

You remind me of somebody I wish you wouldn't.

It's a joke that never gets old, and if you're ever involved, let the Punchline
give
it
all
away

I'm over
your body
lining out each contour
every crater.
Mishapen
reawakenings
in mourning
coaxed in the morning light, again.

Those anchors we threw
how they churned up
deep ocean creatures
scatter the meadows
race the globe
leave me on a pillow of smoke
I can spend my lifetime breathing in.

This reminds me of somebody I wish you wouldn't.

It's a joke that never gets old, and if you're ever involved, let the Punchline
give
it
all
away