spiders kidsmoke

Wilco

Spiders are singing in the salty breeze
Spiders are filling out tax returns
Spinning out webs of deductions and melodies
On a private beach in Michigan

Why can t they wish their kisses good
Why do they miss when their kisses should
Fly like winging birds fighting for the keys
On a private beach in Michigan

This recent rash of kidsmoke
All these telescopic poems
It s good to be alone

Why can t they say what they want
Why can t they just say what they mean
Come clean, listen and talk
Hello private callers, IDs blocked

The sun will rise, we ll climb into cars
The future has a valley and a shortcut around
Who will wear the crown of drowning award
Hold a private light on a Michigan shore

You fool me with a kiss of kidsmoke
From a microscopic home
It s good to be alone

I ll be in my bed
You can be the stone
That raises from the dead
And carries us all home

There s no blood on my hands
I just do as I am told