A 50’s living room is nailed to the ceiling
You look pretty and sweet with red wine on your teeth
But I can’t shake this feeling
Like I’m capsized and kicking
We’re the last ones here and people start to clean
Nagging tired and slow like blood drunk little sand fleas
And I shake you awake and say where to next
Cause with the morning you leave
You say, “I think Red Tide might still be open.”
And I say, “When you’re gone how you planning on coping?”
I will pretend that you’re dead
And I’ll take what you left in my head
To the backyard and fill it with flowers instead
A bell’s ringing somewhere near the beach
It’s bright and shrill and it’s louder than it should be
I wonder if you’ll hear it tomorrow night
When everyone is sleeping
I rest my head on your shoulder
“What’re you gonna do when I get back home and she wants you to hold her?”
I will pretend that you’re dead
And I’ll take what you left in my head
To the backyard and fill it with flowers instead
We’re at some late night art gallery A 50’s living room is nailed to the ceiling You look pretty and sweet with red wine on your teeth But I can’t shake this feeling Like I’m capsized and kicking We’re the last ones here and people start to clean Nagging tired and slow like blood drunk little sand fleas And I shake you awake and say where to next Cause with the morning you leave You say, “I think Red Tide might still be open.” And I say, “When you’re gone how you planning on coping?” I will pretend that you’re dead And I’ll take what you left in my head To the backyard and fill it with flowers instead A bell’s ringing somewhere near the beach It’s bright and shrill and it’s louder than it should be I wonder if you’ll hear it tomorrow night When everyone is sleeping I rest my head on your shoulder “What’re you gonna do when I get back home and she wants you to hold her?” I will pretend that you’re dead And I’ll take what you left in my head To the backyard and fill it with flowers instead Explain Request ×
Lyrics taken from
/lyrics/b/bambara/backyard.html
