Bonaduces Eyes As Black As Blueberries
All the changes that I've made don't amount to much in a
room so small that the corners of everything touch. A
little breeze past the window; a little light appears.
It's not enough to open your eyes after years and years
of this. And you know that I'll want to try until these
markers run dry, but there's no way to get around what is
lost and won't be found. And if we don't see another
winter; if we don't see another day, and all the words
that really matter all get lost or locked away. When the
colours all start fading, I pray that one last time I'll
see your hair as red as oranges and eyes as black as
blueberries. And all the changes that I've made in the
hours I keep, as I hold my breath just to hear if you
still breathe. Going out, robbing parking meters, just to
get prescriptions filled. Pay the rent in quarters and
tossing hospital bills. And you know that I'll want to
try, and that this heart won't run dry. But there's no
way to get around what is lost and won't be found.
Chorus. And these cats just won't keep quiet while I cut
knots out of your hair. They're indifferent to your
dying, though they can smell it everywhere.
