It’s only 6am
Some girls walking up in hills in San Francisco.
Where’s the mist?
The wind breathes past her
Caught her right above her neck, she had a wish though,
She insists.
That everyone around who
Sees her gentle face will turn into stone,
Never speak
To anyone who prays
To just be broken like a wishbone,
Cause we are weak.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay.
And every step she takes
Her tears make her appear like a pretty mime,
No-one blinks.
That morning glow has
Kissed the streams upon her face and now it’s half 9,
An old man winks.
She sees him sitting there
Upon a wooden chair right in the middle
Of the road.
And this guy looks at her
And turns not into stone but smiles a little,
So she shows.
Him all the bruises
And the scars across her body, they’re on purpose.
She still stands.
Still the old man sits
And checks and prays for her but she ain’t nervous,
Holds her hand.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay you crazy, screwed up lady.
I think you’re going to be
Okay.