Oh your love’s like a wall made of brick
and it’s 20 feet thick
and 400 feet tall.
And I try to crawl under;
I try to climb over,
but I either just get stuck or fall.
So I drove out to Portland;
I drew you a picture;
I wrote you a love song.
But I lent you my keyboard
so now I’ve got nothing;
least that is to play on.
So I’ve just been scratching my head
’bout how to get into your bed
or better instead;
into one of your songs.
Into one of your songs;
that’s where I belong
so you can play it and look at the picture.
Hear me singing along
even though I’m long gone
to your words as holy as scripture.