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A Curious Sofamp3.com/A_CURIOUS_SOFA

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    "The Calendar Hung Itself"genre: Folk Punk
    lo fi playlo fi play (dial-up)
    hi fi playhi fi play (broadband)
    email track to a friendemail track to a friend
    add to My.MP3add to My.MP3
    Bright Eyes-good song, a curious sofa will have songs on here soon just be patient, we dont have any recorded yet....
    CD: Fevers and Mirros
    Credits: BRIGHT EYES

    Lyrics
    Does he kiss your eyelids in the morning when you start to raise your head?
    And does he sing to you incessantly from the place between your bed and wall?
    Does he walk around all day at school with his feet inside your shoes?
    Looking down every few steps to pretend he walks with you?
    Oh, does he know that place below your neck that is your favorite to be touched?
    And does he cry through broken sentences, like 'I love you far too much'?
    Does he lay awake listening to your breath?
    Worried that you smoke too many cigarettes?
    Is he coughing now on a bathroom floor?
    For every speck of tile there's a thousand more
    You won’t ever see, but must hold inside yourself eternally
    Well, I drug your ghost across the country and we plotted out my death
    In every city, memories would whisper, 'Here is where you rest'
    I was determined in Chicago but I dug my teeth into my knees
    And I settled for a telephone and sang into your machine
    'You are my sunshine, my only sunshine
    You are my sunshine, my only sunshine'
    And I kissed a girl with a broken jaw that her father gave to her
    She had eyes bright enough to burn me, they reminded me of yours
    And in a story told she was a little girl in a red-rouge, sun-bruised field
    And there were rows of ripe tomatoes where a secret was concealed
    And it rose like thunder, clapped under our hands
    And it stretched for centuries to a diary entry’s end where I wrote,
    'You make me happy when skies are gray
    You make me happy when skies are gray, and gray, and gray'
    Well the clock’s heart, it hangs inside its open chest
    With hands stretched towards the calendar hanging itself
    But I will not weep for those dying days
    For all the ones who've left there's a few that've stayed
    And they found me here and pulled me from the grass where I was laid

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