I'll be the grapes fermented,
Bottled and served with the table
I was waiting for a cross-town train
In the London underground
I'll write you a song and it won't be hard
Will someone please call a surgeon
Who can crack my ribs
I take a breath and pull the air in
'Til there's
Last week I had the strangest dream
Where everything was exactly
I, I'm thinking it's a sign
That the freckles in our
Smeared black ink, your palms are sweaty
And I'm barely listening
This place is a prison
And these people aren't your friends
Inhaling
I've got a cupboard with cans of food
Filtered water and
I was running late for work
So I didn't change my
Will someone please call a surgeon
Who can crack my ribs
it was familiar to me
the smoke too thick to breathe
the
How can I just let you walk away?
Just let you
I saw you standing there
The wind blowing your hair
It's fate
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