Up above you darling
(past the line, between the land), I'll call you from Vancouver
Just staring @ your picture till it's all that I can stand. This dream's a lil narrow, so
I'm sticking to my guns while the wake-up calls keep coming (though sometimes, dearie,
Lord the thought of another one).
Are you shaking? Are you sleeping? Yet, another weepy lil rager drowned down to the ring.
It's hard a moon to swallow. You're drunk or you're dead under this swollen,
Swampy sky; when the thought of one more broken night is more than some'll ever shed.
Writer(s): Richard Carl Buckner
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