Same Old Man - Joanna Newsom
It's the same old lady, hanging out her wash
Standing in the rain, wearing a mackintosh
Same old lady standing in the rain
the thought of New York was going insane
Hey little leaf, lying on the ground
Now you're turning slightly brown
Why don't you get up on the tree
Turn the color green the way you ought to be
My mind is failing and my body grows weak
And my lips won't form the words I speak
I'm floating away on a barrel of pain
New York City won't see me again
It's the same old man, sitting at the mill
The mill will turn around of its own free will
I'm certainly glad to be at home
New York City continues on alone
I'm certainly glad to be at home
New York City continues on alone
New York City continues on alone
New York City continues