This Bouquet

Got a garden of songs where I grow all my thoughts

wish I could harvest one or two for some small talk

Seems like I'm starving for words whenever you're around

nothing on my tongue so much in the ground

nothing on my tongue so much in the ground

Half the time I got my gaze trained on your motel door

fourth door from the end

rest of the time my gaze lays like a stain on the carpeted floor

if it weren't for my brain I'd just go over and make friends

too bad about my brain 'cause I'd like to make friends.

See the little song bird unable to make a sound

even though she follows her words from town to town

we both have gardens of songs and maybe its okay

that I am speechless 'cause I picked you this bouquet.