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Текст песни Jane Siberry - Writers Are A Funny Breed

Jane Siberry - Writers Are A Funny Breed слова песни




It is very quiet here--so stillI don`t live here--I live down the hillOn this winter`s afternoonThe distant sun--it slowly swings the room aroundThis room hangs on a golden chainSuspendedFrozenFrozen in time since you went away Walking through your rooms I though your thingsFitting--these aren`t fingers these are wingsIt says April on your calendarIt`s winter now--I wonder where you areI hope it`s warm and sunny--or cold and windyAs long as you`re fine Your house is as tumble-down as mineCrumpled papers everywhere like mineThis one says "I`ll write no more"That one says "don`t lock the door"Writers are a funny breedI should know You said someday when we`re pure and highWe won`t need to capture and describeThe things we see or don`t seeWe`ll let things beLet things beThat`s when you`d leave And that is why I had to come todayMy mad scribbling crumpled, crippled, feyTossing words from ledges that erodeFrom ledges--I am not a goatI am not a piece of chalkI just want to do it right like you And now I stand here in your houseEverything`s so stillI wonder if I`ll write againOr let things beWriters are a funny breed

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