Round here

Step out the front door like a ghost into the fog,
where no one notices the contrast of white on white.
And in between the moon and you, the angels get a better view.
Of the crumbling difference between wrong and right.
I walk in the air between the rain through myself and back again.
Where? I don’t know.
Maria says she’s dying, through the door I hear her crying.
Why? I don’t know.

Round here we always stand up straight,
round here something radiates.

Maria came from Nashville with a suitcase in her hand.
She said shed like to meet a boy who looks like Elvis.
She walks along the edge of where the ocean meets the land.
Just like she’s walking on a wire in the circus.
She parks her car outside of my house,
takes her clothes off,
says she’s close to understanding Jesus.
She knows she’s more than just a little misunderstood,
she has trouble acting normal when she’s nervous.

Round here were carving out our names,
round here we all look the same.
Round here we talk just like lions,
but we sacrifice like lambs.
Round here she’s slipping through my hands.

Sleeping children better run like the wind,
out of the lightning dream.
Mama’s little baby better get herself in,
out of the lightning.

She says it’s only in my head.
She says “shhh, I know, it’s only in my head,”
But the girl on car in the parking lot says
“man you should try to take a shot,
can’t you see my walls are crumbling?”
Then she looks up at the building and says she’s thinking of jumping.
She says shes tired of life, she must be tired of something.

Round here she’s always on my mind,
round here, hey man got lots of time.
Round here we’re never sent to bed early
and nobody makes us wait.
Round here we stay up very, very, very, very late.
I can’t see nothing, nothing round here.
Catch me if I’m falling…

Round Here by the Counting Crows

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