What tastes salty?
Obviously potato chips.
Obviously a Californa girls hips.
Your lips after your tears
What tastes sweet?
Obviously the candy shop
Obviously an affair with a cop.
Your kisses in the morning
What tastes refreshing?
Obviously a cup of water.
Obviously a spring from the Alps.
Your skin in the shower.
Move me like the music and the rhythm.
Mold me like the sculptor and the ceramics.
My mistakes I have always shown on the surface,
But yours you have hidden deep beneath the sea.
These little black submarines,
They show in the shallows.
From encased in the hands of the small bird
that sits on your brain stem all day;
a little hope comes of me.
Or at least I muse it would.
I dream of you the whole night through,
and when winter comes I still dream of you.
And when age comes I still dream of you.
And when death comes to you, I still dream of you.
And in death I will come to meet the true you.
Don't take that the wrong way,
no one is behind me to back me up on this,
but you always say I don't know you,
believe me I really try too.
If you ever flew,
I would go with you
and the little birds would carry me through.