Ramona Was A Waitress

Typing letters to the dead

Late at night on a closed piano lid

She circles past She fills your glass

But she don't recognise the song

And once in a life time she says

The waking life

Stitched together in your head

Well, what if it's only worth

The bundle of nerves it's written on?

And I don't need these arms anymore

I don't need this heart, now to love

I don't need this skin and bones

At all

There's a way you've always known her

Telephone between her cheek and her shoulder

And eyes like crystal balls

That just won't shutup

About the future of the future

Ramona was a waitress

All but made of information

In a bar under the third bridge

She says she's looking forward

To living forever

And I won't need these arms anymore

I won't need this heart, not alone

I won't need this skin and bones

At all

At all, at all, at all, at all, at all

Ramona was a waitress