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• Artiste: Bring Prudence
• Titre: The Parable of Water in Lungs
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An old moldy penny lying on the train tracks. And I fell for that penny like a small poor boy, Whose lanky arms bent underneath His snotty nose and sallow cheeks, And in the pencil outline of train tracks and backs Our heads clashed like stubborn sheep Now, every morning in September I'd wake up to wash my hair. See, after Colin died on Homecoming night, I met this girl who thinks I care, I think she's right - I think I care, So I make sure to chew my gum and keep my hands inside my pockets every night we walk (as friends). Well the tense was present, But the time was perfect For her hands to find me In the pocket of my jacket Made of down. And in November, Terra Cotta getting fired in the sand. It wasn't windy, just too cold, Too cold for her to wear my coat. I found a way to fight away That sheepish smoke with my inner wolf. She's worried sick about her mug - it could get cracked or not at all turn out a tender Christmas gift. He used to steal green apples from a dentist's garden, I made a compass out of a matchbox, It led me from thick back to thin - I tried to kill myself again, Cos what's the good of summer rain if flowers never saw it came pouring a stream of consciousness? Except that light inside her room must be the warmest thing for miles, She sits me down like a child and puts her lips against my skin But now I think I understand, I'd quit before if I were her, Cos, God, the premise of the game is not to win But just to play with something but a sickly mouse; Just have some fun and throw it out. What a shame - no photograph, I guess him and I both wanted, Him - a penny for his penury, and I - this love. Well, we can't have it.