XX

Alright, alright — one take, I gotta crash
1, 2, 3, 4

Smiling in l’orangerie,
grind a masterpiece,
feeding powder to the breeze,
muse to my caprice.

With a peach and pipe in hand,
smoke in the willow’s hair.
Silver chains, secondhand insane,
with the lady fair.

Fill your glass and clink your cup,
you watch as I am seen.
Made to dance, alone for you,
Soleá, para ti.

Tomorrow, maybe
Tomorrow, maybe
Love is resting, honey
It was never running
Tomorrow, baby

Walking around, not getting far,
watching the pot heat.
Most of the time, that’s where we are,
all the days on repeat.

Tomorrow, baby

I’m saying more than I need to,
half asleep in the pew.
Am I preaching something that
you already knew?

Get swept up and overreach.
Move how you need to.
I’m still mopping up the beach,
but you keep showing up too.

Tomorrow, maybe
Tomorrow, maybe
Love is resting, honey
It was never running
Tomorrow, baby

I miss you.