In February I feel flues and fountains inside me
I hoard booze and sleep late and don't leave the house for weeks
So Frances and Christian fight treacherous land sharks and drink until they speak tongues
And Sadie loses her soldier to another girl and then he's gone
Hunting infidels through sand storms
But I see a battlefield before me while the winter sun fractals and pale rays through my car's window
And I drive past mattress stores and gas stations and bus stops and my friend on the stereo sings
That it's not going well
And it's not going badly
It's just going along
In the end the winter's a revelation but it comes late and we've been down to dark places
By march we have lost our way and are picked apart by crows with eyes like black agates
And beaks obsidian cut and deathly
We wear threadbare sweaters and old blue jeans and don't clean the house
We are teenage sluts and tall plastic shoes and we are bloodthirsty dogs
And in April the fog comes and the skies go clear
And from the ground green sprouts of prepubescent trees stretch and reach to the light which is dim and flickery
Like a silent movie
And Frances she sings
Well there's a town in my dreams that I've never even seen
And it runs round the coast of California
And it's got sun and it's got sand
And it's nothing like my land
All gray with drizzling rain
And mangled mansions
But they keep on coming
Those shit days and ridiculous nights
And I swear some motherfucker spoke a curse on us
So we eat garlic and ginger to fight off the blues
We have space clearings and sun rituals
And the cold rolls on
It rolls on


Lyrics submitted by anonymiad

It's Frances, She's Singing song meanings
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