Texty: New Pornographers (The). Mass Romantic. All For Swinging You Around.

Letter from an Occupant

I'm told the eventual downfall is just a bill from the restaurant. You told me I could order the moon, babe, just as long as I shoot what I want. What the last ten minutes have taught me: bet the hand that your money's on. Where the hell have the '70s brought me? You trade me away long gone. For the love of a god, you say, not a letter from an occupant. The time that your enemy gives you, good times are not the ones you want. I cried five rivers on the way here, which one will you skate away on? The tune you'll be humming forever, all the words are replaced and wrong, with a shower of yeahs and whatevers, you trade me away long gone. For the love of a god, you say, not a letter from an occupant. Where have all the sensations gone? It's the song, the song, the song that's shaking me.