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Letters To Cleo Aurora Gory Alice

There it goes again, got a little habit Oh, oh, oh, stay away from him Clinging, gnawing things Tucked away like secrets Ah, ha oh, stay away from him

The Sunday Paper is a mess and I'm not gonna pick it up you are if I could just get on with it. It don't matter my hair's a mess cause you're not gonna

Just living on a Sunday morning Got my toast and tea and I'm warm And I just thought I'd think about All the things to get and keep getting Never enough

Like a gaping hole in the universe As obvious as anything could be Trip and fall pants at ankles as it as It only possible could be It's a cosmic thing

The saddest sound I've ever heard The saddest sound I've ever heard The quiet that takes the place of the silence That takes the place of your voice That

Don't feel small when I'm looking down. Don't get too high if I'm looking up at you. And if the answer looks at me I'll still say I don't know it, not

The Sunday Paper is a mess and I'm not gonna pick it up you are if I could just get on with it. It don't matter my hair's a mess cause you're not gonna

Like a gaping hole in the universe, as obvious as anything could be, trip and fall pants at ankles as it, as it only possible could be. It's a cosmic

Appear and fade away, so far so good and I'll tell you the story this time. Plan too far ahead, it's the same old thing. Finally kicking it out this