Ninth Ave. Reverie

You say you want to be buried beneath a mango tree Where every northern summer you come back to life You say you want your ashes mixed up with your lover’s salt Where every Sunday night he’ll eat a little more of you You say you can’t stop crying, it’s just the power of the song Riding on the midnight bus again And you say that you loved him but you were just too young You say that’s why you still wait in the rain You say a lot of things And you say that your daddy was a painter of sorts But I never saw him paint a thing He just kept the tins underneath his bed And sniffed a different colour every night And dreamed of a place up in the sky Where everyone’s a painter till they die You say you don’t like flying on aeroplanes That even seabirds must get lonely out there You said you were quitting after your next pack And you said once that I was beautiful But for all the pretty ladies in Beijing I couldn’t stop my drinking And you say a lot of You say a lot of You say a lot of things You say you can’t stop dreaming about your funeral day Where all your long-time friends will be crying for you And I’d be up the back with a rose in my hand And I’d give to you in death what I could not in life