A Broken Tenor

Red. Blue
Where are you tonight
You say everything just right everything’s just right
I live on a dead end street where men and women meet
The countries really far from me
Where the seasons get universal
Yeah, the seasons get universal
Why are you still surprised by a quart of gin and a quarter scotch
A quiet airplane and a half-hour off the clock
Where are you?
Your hair knows
Your hair knows the top of your T-shirt
And your back was up in arms about it
But I’m not as good as the inner states are;
I can’t take you that far
To a polish town in German tongues
And in time with Irish rounds he thinks every Russian girl is you
Did he hear? He didn’t hear here