Postscript (She Knows)

Her words flow like honey through the dust on a plastic tree Her smile tastes like poetry The pop songs she shows me, at first they seem so plain But they've rearranged my brain in ways that I can't explain The way her hair rests on the straps of her Olive dress Makes me feel alive and insane and that's all okay The pop songs she shows me they get me through the day But the sky just tastes so strange Her words flow like honey, through the wax on my passenger seat Her smile seems to go on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on She won't know my feelings unless I find a way To get these words stuck in her brain, so I sing