And I never thought this life was possible,You're the yellow bird that I've been waiting for. In polaroids you were dressed in women's clothes Were you made ashamed, why'd you lock them in a drawer? Well, I don't think that I ever loved you more Well let the poets cry themselves to sleep And all their tearful words will turn back into steam The sound of loneliness makes me happier.
I've cried, and you'd think I'd be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine the rest of my life.
Let the poets cry themselves to sleep, and all their tearful words will turn back into steam.
They say it's better to bury your sadness in a graveyard or garden that waits for the spring to wake from its sleep and burst into green.
