Some people say that it's all just conjecture, like trying to synthesise undergrad lectures with the wrought-iron balconies
In Greenwich this Spring.
There's a schism, a chasm of language
Between the taste and the thought of this sandwich -- between the thing and the myth I make
To feign meaningfulness.
(Mountain is and mountain was. I am all of the above.
Don't cast aside / dare to cleave to the marrow of belief.)
How absurd just to live in this body, in this town and not south Nagasaki or anywhere else with a name unknown to myself.
In Tibet I'd be bowing to Buddha.
At Kachemak Bay I'd see pods of belugas with light pouring into my eyes
And no image the same.
(Chorus)
Oh to have a distilled sense of sensing. Does the banshee get tired of lamenting? Daisies can't become daffodils,
So why should that become this?
Yet I feel your love carve through the waters round the landscape of somebody's daughter. You call me peninsula,
An island no more.
(Chorus)
When you go over, I'll go under.
When you go over, I'll go under.
Don't let our vessels be carried asunder. When you go over, I'll go under.
(Chorus)
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Jealous of the Birds - Marrow Lyrics
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Some people say that it's all just conjecture, like trying to synthesise undergrad lectures with the wrought-iron balconies
In Greenwich this Spring.
There's a schism, a chasm of language
Between the taste and the thought of this sandwich -- between the thing and the myth I make
To feign meaningfulness.
(Mountain is and mountain was. I am all of the above.
Don't cast aside / dare to cleave to the marrow of belief.)
How absurd just to live in this body, in this town and not south Nagasaki or anywhere else with a name unknown to myself.
In Tibet I'd be bowing to Buddha.
At Kachemak Bay I'd see pods of belugas with light pouring into my eyes
And no image the same.
(Chorus)
Oh to have a distilled sense of sensing. Does the banshee get tired of lamenting? Daisies can't become daffodils,
So why should that become this?
Yet I feel your love carve through the waters round the landscape of somebody's daughter. You call me peninsula,
An island no more.
(Chorus)
When you go over, I'll go under.
When you go over, I'll go under.
Don't let our vessels be carried asunder. When you go over, I'll go under.
(Chorus)
In Greenwich this Spring.
There's a schism, a chasm of language
Between the taste and the thought of this sandwich -- between the thing and the myth I make
To feign meaningfulness.
(Mountain is and mountain was. I am all of the above.
Don't cast aside / dare to cleave to the marrow of belief.)
How absurd just to live in this body, in this town and not south Nagasaki or anywhere else with a name unknown to myself.
In Tibet I'd be bowing to Buddha.
At Kachemak Bay I'd see pods of belugas with light pouring into my eyes
And no image the same.
(Chorus)
Oh to have a distilled sense of sensing. Does the banshee get tired of lamenting? Daisies can't become daffodils,
So why should that become this?
Yet I feel your love carve through the waters round the landscape of somebody's daughter. You call me peninsula,
An island no more.
(Chorus)
When you go over, I'll go under.
When you go over, I'll go under.
Don't let our vessels be carried asunder. When you go over, I'll go under.
(Chorus)
Writer: Naomi Hamilton
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management
Copyright: Lyrics © BMG Rights Management