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Ramona Was A Waitress
por
Paul Dempsey
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Typing letters to the dead Late at night on a closed piano lid She circles past, She fills your glass But she don't recognise the song And once in a life time she says The waking life Stitched together in your head Well, what if it's only worth The bundle of nerves it's written on? And I don't need these arms anymore I don't need this heart, not to love I don't need this skin and bones At all There's a way you've always known her Telephone between her cheek and her shoulder And eyes like crystal balls That just won't shutup About the future of the future Ramona was a waitress All but made of information In a bar under the third bridge She says she's looking forward To living forever And I won't need these arms anymore I won't need this heart, not alone I won't need this skin and bones At all At all, at all, at all, at all, at all Ramona was a waitress
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