Same Old Man
Joanna Newsom
It's the same old lady, putting out the wash
Standing in the rain in her mackintosh
Same old lady standing in the rain
The thought of New York was going insane
Hey little leaf, lying on the ground
Now you're turning slightly brown
Why don't you come back on the tree
Turn the color green the way you ought to be?
My mind is failing and my body grows weak
My lips won't form the words I speak
And I'm floating away on a barrel of pain
New York City won't see me again
It's the same old man, sitting at the mill
Mill-wheel turning of its own free will
I'm certainly glad to be at home
New York City continues on, alone
I'm certainly glad to be at home
New York City continues on, alone
New York City continues on, alone
New York City continues