Text:
The Decemberists

Four score years Living down in this rain swept town Sea salt tears Swimming round as the rain comes down Mr Postman, do you have a letter for me

Baby wants a new spin, baby wants a broken heart Hear you found the lynch-pin to keep it all from falling apart But you keep on rolling, you keep on rolling

I'm really sorry, Steven But your bicycle's been stolen I was watchin' it for you 'til you came back in the fall I guess I didn't do such a good job after

On the lam from the law, on the steps of the capitol You shot a plain clothes cop on the ten o'clock And I saw momentarily They flashed with photograph

Had a dream, you and me and the war of the end times And I believe California succumbed to the fault line We heaved relief as scores of innocents died

After the bombs subside And this long, low campaign Calls it good for the night We meet in the streets Will we meet in a bar's cold light? We grip at

I am a chimbley, a chimbley sweep No bed to lie, no shoes to hold my feet On a rooftop, in dead of night You?ll hear me cry, I?ll shake you from your

By the bumper cars, in the pretty twining light I may have gone too far I may have gone too much, too long I'm a dull and witless boy In the after bars

This cocoon, caught in Vesuvius' shadow Only the ashes remain And I waited there for you Why couldn't you? Here we lie waiting for something to startle