lewsberg - non-fiction writer lyrics
they met at a bar
she was young and on her own
he was a writer
so well+spoken and depressed
she didn’t care to impress
he didn’t like her
it started with a conundrum
he said: it’s light at night
but dark during the day
she said: that’s easy
he thought: no it’s not
he pondered for a sec
and then he shrugged
because he loved to talk
but he hated conversation
he loved to talk
but he hated conversation
and when they came home
the writer’s home
it turned out all he had was words
words in books
books on shelves
shelves like the years he started counting
he said: there’s so many things
that have disappointed me
and soon one of them is you
she started crying
and as she started crying
he knew exactly what to do
because he loved to watch
but he would die for imagination
he loved to watch
but he would die for imagination
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