IntroVerse 1You Died The Year After I Cut Your HairYou're Living In Brooklyn And Having AffairsYou're Making Bad Movies And Seeing Nice GirlsYou Tell Me It's Nearly The End Of The WorldYou Talk To My Dad About Soil And LeavesYou Heard The Trucks Roll Past The MonasteryYou Flew On A Plane To The Desert, And ThenYou Wrote To Your Wife, Typewriter And PenYou Pet My Back While I Puke In The FloralsYou Keep Me Awake, Finding Loopholes In Curses And MoralsYour Melon-Green Eyes And The Derelict ViewYour Nails In My Hair, Happy Birthday To YouInterludeVerse 2You're Credentialed, Shacking With Your BabydollYou're Cut Up By Surgeons And I Never CallYou Cover The Floors With Sawdust And ClayYou Know That I Lied And Will Never ExplainYou Steady Mom's Papery Arms In The DarkYou Save For A High-Rise That Faces The ParkYou Smoke Through The Winter And Talk NabokovYou Cradle My Hand And You Ask For My LoveYou Don't Recognize Your Daughter's FaceYou Cry When You Think About Heat Death And All Of That WasteYour Blood In The Grout Lines — And Who Was Who? —You Felt Something Departing, Perhaps It Was YouInterludeVerse 3You Found A Diary At A Book ExchangeYou Told Us That Time Is Incredibly StrangeYou Hopped In The Shower, You Hopped On A TrainYou're Living In Brooklyn, You're Living In SpainYou Call To Demand Who Had Been In My BedYou Sew Up Your Wounds With A Golden ThreadYou're Six And You're Flinching Away From A KissYou're Sure That You Raised Me Much Better Than ThisYou Burn Through The So-Called Livelong DaysYou Slacken And Die And Pack Your Fine Body AwayYou're Frozen In Frame, Do You Feel Something New?Does It Happen To Me When It Happens To You?*Only The Note D, On As Many Strings Of The Guitar As You Can, Any Octave
