Your mother's kitchenette turns to a court room with so many questions and no resolutions.
You want the obvious and I only drop hints of what went wrong or what never was right.
And nothing rhymes with orange.
And you don't rhyme with me.
And nothing rhymes with orange, babe.
And that's how it's got to be.
A month's worth of words mill round your mind, but in this moment they can't find
A way out from your heart.
It's such a shame they had to start.
And nothing rhymes with orange.
And you don't rhyme with me.
And nothing rhymes with orange, babe.
And that's how it's got to be.