Strange Currencies: A Podcast For Songwriters

Glittering How did we ever get in this party? They must have thought we were the help The mid-June moon Over the World Trade Tomb I don’t want to leave this rooftop With anyone else The host is a rich old bachelor Loves what I paint Your platinum hair Is like permission to stare You say, considering the three thousand churches In this town there are precious few saints Chorus: And it is summer next week If I could have remembered to speak I would invite you to Coney Island Not easy surviving In a city where indifference Is often the closest thing to kindness I’m just wondering If you are also pretending Not sure I deserve a happy ending Glittering, glittering We were glittering They warned me it all ends Embittering Yet I swore it wouldn’t happen to us Flickering lighting Down the complex stairwell And you made a joke About us being murdered Then your brother got ashes Caught in his sunglasses At that point your attitude became Quite a bit sterner You accused me