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I've held your hand and sunk your ships |
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And I can read our future in the whiskey on your lips |
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Watch this ice a-melting; cool glass magnify my palms |
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And from the church on Sunday evening comes the sifted sound of psalms |
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Things they go and then come around to stops |
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Now my baby? just a breeze through the treetops |
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Glass in my hand, my back to the door |
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My one consolation is I ain? your man anymore |
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The Drop |
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Oh, I worry just about the drop |
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Oh, I worry just about the drop |
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'Cause it's not the fall that kills you, |
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But, the sudden stop |
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Machiavelli on the door |
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The shogun dropped his chopsticks in the bowl |
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Oh, you might be a pastor, but you never pay the toll |
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I'm flippin' from left to right |
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Oh, I'm flippin' like a moth tonight |
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I could never ask your baby, |
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I'll wish for you tonight |
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I'll wish for you |
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I worry just about the drop |
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I worry about the drop |
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'Cause it's not the fall that kills you, |
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It's that sudden stop |
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That sudden stop, now |
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Is she alligator |
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Yeah, she's a crocodile |
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She got that ancient? |
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That's just hanging out of her smile |
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When she called you at the keyhole, brother |
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She knew it all the while |
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Oh, I worry just about the drop |
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Oh, I worry (I'm so worried, mama) about the drop |
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'Cause it's not the fall that kills you, |
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But that sudden stop |
