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Lyrics
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My
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dream
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girl,
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those
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eyes,
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that
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nose
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My
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private
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inside
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joke,
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sign
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the
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cast
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on
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my
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funny
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bone
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Floral
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sheets
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on
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long-
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given-
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up
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ghosts
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Haunt
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my
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bedroom
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at
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night
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and
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say,
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"Let's
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get
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you
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home"
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They
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say,
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"Grow
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up,
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be
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a
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man,
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cause
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until
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then
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you're
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nothing
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but
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a
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short-
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haired
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girl"
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But
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come
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and
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Braille-
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palm-
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read
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and
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hold
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my
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hand,
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see
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my
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reason
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and
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"Goodbye,
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cruel
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world"
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And
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oh
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my
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god,
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what's
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wrong
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with
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me?
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And
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the
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wife
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of
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Walter
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Keane,
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whose
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name
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right
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now's
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escaping
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me
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That's
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right,
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Margaret!
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Dream
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girl,
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come
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and
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sweep
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me
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off
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my
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knees
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I'd
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rather
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stay
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asleep
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than
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never
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see
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you
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wake
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up
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next
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to
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me
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Neon
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lights
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like
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heat
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lamps
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in
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the
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cold
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To
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incubate
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the
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shadows
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you
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can't
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stitch
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back
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to
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your
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soles
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And
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you
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seemed
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fine
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just
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a
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few
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days
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ago
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But
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CO2
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and
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fish
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tanks
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do
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enough
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to
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get
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you
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home
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Well
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now
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you
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swear
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in
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your
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prayers,
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telling
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time,
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"Promise
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I'll
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never
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have
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fun
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again.
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If
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you'd
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stop
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flying,"
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but
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then
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you
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start
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crying,
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"Never
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mind,
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you
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win!"
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And
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far
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too
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late
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came
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far
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too
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soon
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And
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the
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love
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you
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never
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made
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became
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the
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things
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you'd
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never
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do
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Oh,
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sweet
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Mary!
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Dream
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girl,
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come
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but
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keep
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your
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hands
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off
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me
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Go
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on
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back
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to
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bed,
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my
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love,
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I
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mean,
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that's
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where
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dreams
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are
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supposed
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to
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be
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So,
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come
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on,
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William,
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grow
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up,
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be
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a
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man,
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cause
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until
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then
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they're
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gonna
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treat
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you
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like
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you're
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just
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a
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little
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girl
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But
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come
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and
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Braille-
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palm-
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read,
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hold
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my
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hands,
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and
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you'll
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see
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that
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it's
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me
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who
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cries
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mercy
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while
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your
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fingers
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curl
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and
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Oh,
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are
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you
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at
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all
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like
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me?
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Do
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you
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know
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what
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I
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mean?
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Or
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am
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I
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too
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close
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to
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see?
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Someone,
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anyone!
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Of
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the
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two
|
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things
|
|
we
|
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do
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on
|
|
our
|
|
knees:
|
|
watch
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me
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fold
|
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my
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|
hands
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just
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to
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crack
|
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my
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knuckles
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Well,
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here
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is
|
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the
|
|
church,
|
|
here
|
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is
|
|
the
|
|
steeple,
|
|
open
|
|
the
|
|
doors,
|
|
see
|
|
all
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the
|
|
people
|
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Alright,
|
|
that's
|
|
enough,
|
|
let's
|
|
get
|
|
you
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home
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