Oh self-ignition
I can feel her suitcase sensing mine
She was her own permission
Miss nineteen ninety ninety ninety nine nine nine nine
Charles James Sofa and a household truce
And her every Wednesday night you can count her grooves
I woke up in a house I could understand
The descendants of defendants were making demands

Gently thinking backwards
On the psychedelic promises God made to me in the dark
Some of these kids don't have words
They're as helpless as parakeets in a park
Couldn't believe it when I saw that you wrote
That a burning passenger shouldn't ruin the boat
If dreams are your body telling you its confused
Then I've got a dream I think you could use

All lace and fiction
In the lawless rooms where you finally lost your health
I read the evening edition
And the pumpkin on the porch is trying to heal itself
I don't like magic and I don't like tricks
Havin' a hell of a time believin' we exist
The mail man dreams he's Paul Revere
He wants the whole town to buy him a beer
And I have to remember that your not wanting me
Doesn't make me any less here