The Trees Were Mistaken Lyrics

This is a story, some kind of a story
this is a story 'bout a 'bout a hurt and a girl,
a girl and a boy, a boy.
only good now, only fancying
of some girl in the dark why not joan of arc
inverted crystal mountain kind of a story.

this is a story.
man, about the serfs and sufferers,
the scholars decifering
translations of sanskrit.
just as my handwritten story.

this is a story
where the singers begin to appear
in the s***es between all the dashes and braces
in the mothbitten story - getting left behind.

this is a story, some kind of a story.

with the pages distressed that you held to your chest,
they were mangled and dog eared, while the rest were just mangy and gory.
this is a story about the memory of water
translating the sound of the traffic.
remember the traffic
it's making you carsick all along southfield freeway.

and translating mistakes and the trees and the stake
and the trees for the woods and the sound of the trash
for the sound of the blowing leaves along the southfield freeway.

my name is a blackbird, my breast is a two tone.
feathers are warm in molasses,
twisting the words from the silence to gases.
now i don't have worry (of making it)
it's so unclear.
am i dead or am i dying
or am i simply tired of crying?

my name is a blackbird, my breast is of two tones.
feathers are warm in molasses,
twisting the words from the silence to gases.
now i don't have worry (of making it)
it's so unclear.

am i dead or am i dying
or am i simply tired of crying?

my name is a blackbird.