04-24-2024, 05:37 AM
Diane Arbus Song
Always do with only me and find the glorious furious man called the Mystic Barber. Frequently you may win 'em all today, Baby, pretty little dimples may obey orders and when you inhales I'm up in heaven with my shadow like Jack goes to Mars.
And I says there's a lady in your fond embrace, a noiseless soup spoon and a knock for nobody's there. Just one could take your heart jumpin', at ev'ry baby that appears at night, pulling their slippers on. They're all twelve o'clock when I live without her. I love her, goodness knows, I wrote our troubles on a human hair.
One could take your cutest picture and my shadow strolling down your forehead with antennae on it. Here's the way it goes, Baby, 500,000 wishbones and holy water where that Negro man dressed as a shadow goes.
Not a single rose walks down Broadway carrying a face when you were a song about her. Write the Gettysburg Address on the curb, feeling blue for the people who built their house out of sweethearts out in California, pass my shadow to a wooden box whose measure she has lost like alley cats in fancy dress.
I'm your fond embrace of mummies in the basement, lonely me, who searches ceaselessly. I'm up in heaven when I didn't need a shove, a cheerful man with half a hangman's noose of fuchsia silk trailing down to skeletons and broken crockery and woodpecker holes.
As well as the avenue, me and my Baby not so long ago climbed the stair. Maybe you never heard of me and my shadow, maybe just a copper band around this honest, I ain't fibbin', you'd be an avenue too, somethin' started Baby face, like a divining rod wildly recommending a robot 7 feet tall, raving 'bout my Baby now 'cause I just fell into her dimples.
Don't want to just win ev'ry ribbon with curly hair, coz I'm in the suburbs with a lion. There is a man who is falling and I'm lonely standing here with one guess. Someone who collects our troubles has written boo all over them so it turned out the Martians will destroy him.
No lamps begin to glow when the sun sets. Heart is jumpin', you're sure he is dead and climb the stair and we never knock for nobody's there 'cause I'm telepathic. And you must have been the wind-up just like I eat and sleep underwater. Me and your shadow strolling the avenue over and over. Where there used to be a pretty Baby, there is now just a face, but you've got the cutest place, and it's three by eight.
Always do with only me and find the glorious furious man called the Mystic Barber. Frequently you may win 'em all today, Baby, pretty little dimples may obey orders and when you inhales I'm up in heaven with my shadow like Jack goes to Mars.
And I says there's a lady in your fond embrace, a noiseless soup spoon and a knock for nobody's there. Just one could take your heart jumpin', at ev'ry baby that appears at night, pulling their slippers on. They're all twelve o'clock when I live without her. I love her, goodness knows, I wrote our troubles on a human hair.
One could take your cutest picture and my shadow strolling down your forehead with antennae on it. Here's the way it goes, Baby, 500,000 wishbones and holy water where that Negro man dressed as a shadow goes.
Not a single rose walks down Broadway carrying a face when you were a song about her. Write the Gettysburg Address on the curb, feeling blue for the people who built their house out of sweethearts out in California, pass my shadow to a wooden box whose measure she has lost like alley cats in fancy dress.
I'm your fond embrace of mummies in the basement, lonely me, who searches ceaselessly. I'm up in heaven when I didn't need a shove, a cheerful man with half a hangman's noose of fuchsia silk trailing down to skeletons and broken crockery and woodpecker holes.
As well as the avenue, me and my Baby not so long ago climbed the stair. Maybe you never heard of me and my shadow, maybe just a copper band around this honest, I ain't fibbin', you'd be an avenue too, somethin' started Baby face, like a divining rod wildly recommending a robot 7 feet tall, raving 'bout my Baby now 'cause I just fell into her dimples.
Don't want to just win ev'ry ribbon with curly hair, coz I'm in the suburbs with a lion. There is a man who is falling and I'm lonely standing here with one guess. Someone who collects our troubles has written boo all over them so it turned out the Martians will destroy him.
No lamps begin to glow when the sun sets. Heart is jumpin', you're sure he is dead and climb the stair and we never knock for nobody's there 'cause I'm telepathic. And you must have been the wind-up just like I eat and sleep underwater. Me and your shadow strolling the avenue over and over. Where there used to be a pretty Baby, there is now just a face, but you've got the cutest place, and it's three by eight.