Album Of The Year lyrics

The first time that I met her I was throwing up in the ladies room stall. She asked me if I needed anything; I said, �€œI think I spilled my drink�€. And that�€™s how it started (or so I�€™d like to believe)�€�

She took me to her mother�€™s house outside of town where the stars hang down. She said she�€™d never seen someone so lost, I said I�€™d never felt so found �€“ and then I kissed her on the cheek�€� and so she kissed me on the mouth.

Spring was poppin�€™ daises up �€˜round rusted trucks and busted lawn chairs. We moved into a studio in Council Bluffs to save a couple bucks. Where the mice came out at night, neighbors were screaming all the time. We�€™d make love in the afternoons to Chelsea Girls and Bachelor No. 2, I�€™d play for her some songs I wrote, she�€™d joke and say I�€™m shooting through the roof, I�€™d say, �€œThey�€™re all for you, dear, I�€™ll write the album of the year.�€

And I know she loved me then, I swear to God she did. It's way she�€™d bite my lower lip and push her hips against my hips and dig her nails so deep into my skin.

The first time that I met her I was convinced I had finally found the one. She was convinced I was under the influence of all those drunken romantics �€“ I was reading Fante at the the time �€“ I had bukowski on the mind. She got a job at Jacob�€™s serving cocktails to the local drunks. Against her will. I fit the the bill: I perched down at the end of the bar, She Said, �€œSpace is not just a place for stars �€“ I gave you an inch, you want a house with a yard.�€ And I know she loved me once, but those days are gone. She used to call me everyday from a pay phone on her break for lunch �€“ just to say she can�€™t wait to come home.

The last time that I saw her she was picking through which records were hers. Her clothes were packed in boxes, with some pots and pans and books and a toaster. Just then a mouse scurried across the floor�€�.we started laughing �€˜til it didn�€™t hurt.