Ten in the Morning (Everything's Fine).
8/8/04
Take the plane here,
call me at ten in the morning
while I'm half-asleep,
as it's raining, while it's pouring.
I'll wake my roomate in a rush,
he'll drive me out into the pouring rain
to the airport at the speed of light,
where you'll be waiting for me.
And then I'll take you home,
we'll spend the day in each other's arms:
hardly moving, saying nothing,
just the rain against the window
and the steady beating of our hearts.
And as day turns to night,
I'll know that everything will be all right,
that pessmism isn't justified by reality
that futility's not the product of insight,
as my arms are wrapped around the girl
that makes this twisted life worth the fight,
her fingers running through my hair, so comforting,
whispering, `everything's just fine.'
8/8/04
Take the plane here,
call me at ten in the morning
while I'm half-asleep,
as it's raining, while it's pouring.
I'll wake my roomate in a rush,
he'll drive me out into the pouring rain
to the airport at the speed of light,
where you'll be waiting for me.
And then I'll take you home,
we'll spend the day in each other's arms:
hardly moving, saying nothing,
just the rain against the window
and the steady beating of our hearts.
And as day turns to night,
I'll know that everything will be all right,
that pessmism isn't justified by reality
that futility's not the product of insight,
as my arms are wrapped around the girl
that makes this twisted life worth the fight,
her fingers running through my hair, so comforting,
whispering, `everything's just fine.'
