Splendour in the grass,
listening to my pal Johnny Cash as my loved ones walk away.
Spring is almost here,
yet my heart is void of cheer only clouded over by sad lullabies.
My grandmother’s fig tree, full of shade and no worries,
was cut down for the rich and cement long ago.
Chilled and distilled,
I can’t take these cheap midnight thrills anymore.
I live from song to song,
surrounded but alone,
always teary eyed from the ghosts of my past.
Why won’t anyone take my trembling hands and tell me like Clark Gable that this valley of the dolls life won’t last.
Bluebirds at my window,
the one I was pushed from by a Peter Pan cowboy,
shattering my bones and my mother’s heart too,
that dark, fateful night happened too goddamn fast.
But years have gone by,
and my eyes keep getting sadder,
it gets harder to keep saying those rotting goodbyes.
They say a kiss will make it fine,
wine and roses all the time,
while we play like desperate children and maybe once in a while write rhymes.
But I’m tired of crying, of wishing, hoping, rusting… fuck, I no longer care.
The nature of things will always be hidden underneath your skin,
so choose your fruit wisely,
just sigh at the seasons and know the stars are watching your nowhere road show,
like Cyndi sang, time after time.
(a whisper) It’s called takotsubo, my dear…

Texte : Cheyenne Crow