i fried my head i m not a brunette i m a down and dusky blonde i am living in a tree when i lie in bed i see beyond my lover s head the moon i hear the rain i am conscious of my voice as a tool it s more demure than your friend the singing queen with her matinee good looks she talks like talking from a book i speak the language of my village of my street but i need a friend and i choose you i tell you the way i feel the truth is crushing like a heel i will forget the kiss and feel if you will too tell me tales of punk rockin girls it s a dim and distant page but i mostly blame my age please make allowances for me i do not see it s a drag that you re getting old i love to think about the year when we sobbed and then we cheered the town deserted like a film the sun was baking dust for fun trees were withering by the day your torso crushing me into the country and the tunnels and the fields i read a book a day like an apple but i did not eat and so the doctor came to me he said a woman does not live by the printed word forgive yourself and eat autumn sped along outside trick photography on speed i was locked inside a room they made a deal they would control the simple things like bodies but i kept my soul when i needed someone i chose you because the fledgling soul awakes and on the balcony she quakes and she is waiting for the sign and when the brother does not come and when the sister s much too young she chooses you
['twee pop']