Ramona Was A Waitress

typing letters to the dead

late at night on a closed piano lid

she circles past, she fills your glass

but she don't recognize the song

once in a lifetime she says

the waking life stitched together in your head

well, what if it's only worth 

the bundle of nerves it's written on?

and i don't need these arms anymore

i don't need this heart now, to love

i don't need this skin and bones at all

there's a way you've always known her

telephone between her cheek and her shoulder

and eyes like crystal balls 

that just won't shut up about the future of the future

and ramona was a waitress

all but made of information

in a bar under the third bridge

she says she's looking forward to living forever

when i won't need these arms anymore

when i won't need this heart to love

and i won't need this skin and bones at all

at all...

and Ramona was a waitress...