Spiders are singing in the salty breeze
Spiders are filling out tax returns
Spinning out webs of deductions and melodies
On a private beach in Michigan
Why can't they wish their kisses good
Why do they miss when their kisses should
Fly like winging birds fighting for the keys
On a private beach in Michigan
This recent rash of kidsmoke
All these telescopic poems
It's good to be alone
Why can't they say what they want
Why can't they just say what they mean
Come clean, listen and talk
Hello private callers, IDs blocked
The sun will rise, we'll climb into cars
The future has a valley and a shortcut around
Who will wear the crown of drowning award
Hold a private light on a Michigan shore
You fool me with a kiss of kidsmoke
From a microscopic home
It's good to be alone
I'll be in my bed
You can be the stone
That raises from the dead
And carries us all home
There's no blood on my hands
I just do as I am told
A strong comment here is specific: the phrase you keep hearing, the mood you come back for, or the reason this song stays in rotation.
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