Strange Currencies: A Podcast For Songwriters

Blunderland The streetlights glowed Chrystal white Against a confetti veil Of falling snow We looked to the left, looked to the right Picked nowhere in particular To go The champagne was nestled In the crook of your scarecrow arm We thought we’d spend The rest of our lives Never hearing an alarm Blunderland, Blunderland I guess it’s hard to understand How heavy reality rests In the palm of an ordinary man Blunderland There was a man dressed Like Santa Slumped against a blue mailbox His cotton-beard was decorated With an authentic December frost You leaned to touch his shoulder He acted like he’d been throttled He called you a cop And tried stealing your Cherry-tinted bottle Blunderland, Blunderland We got into our hotel And there was an isosceles On the wall You gazed upon The street beneath us Said, “it doesn’t feel like I thought.” So I held you from behind Put a peck on your left ear Told you, “You’ve only been Conditioned by cinema, my postmodern dear.” Blunder