Got a garden of songs
Where I grow all my thoughts
Wish I could harvest one or two
For some small talk
I'm always 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
Cuz I'd like to make friends.
See the little song bird
Unable to make a sound
You'd never know she follows
Her words from town to town
We both have gardens of songs
And maybe its okay
That I am speechless
Cuz I picked you this bouquet
Yup, sure am speechless
But I picked you this bouquet
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