The spots of the sun they filled your eyes, replaced the view in symphonies with what you knew were lies They took all of your feathers and turned them to stones, now you are just crawling around proclaiming it’s easy on the bones and that you’ll never let a soul into the world you made, complaining those lights are always darks, when it’s your eyes that are the shades But you just stared at me and now you know I know And now I have an arrow directed at you so lets start the show
Called Quebec home for half the year, every night a cocktail party and you led the cheer Said, “To our health”, when you knew you were dying In lieu of your wealth you stated you were retiring Thought no one would ever know the secrets you hid Found whatever friends who would take the lowest bid But now you are stuck in your own shit because you can’t fly without feathers, you think your skin is protected from my arrows with your leather But I’ve seen your girls as they were mine too: Tina from Poughkeepsie and Tracy from Kalamazoo I figured it would just serve as a passing phase, a momentary celebration to commemorate my raise
But things get tricky and time gets sticky, you think it’s a youthful thing but now you are turning fifty Because no wind could blow those thoughts away, there are no feathers to dust them, all apologies appear cliché Cause I’ve been shot with arrows before, but all these slippery things surprise so I’m left with a quiver on the floor
So now is the time to burst my bubble, spread the contents on the table, no need to hide my troubles And I’ll remember your life as I change mine and forget all your forests of evergreen, because I’ll suffice just fine with burnt pine