I know which ring she wears on which finger each day of the week
And I know why she holds me as gently as a priceless antique
I know why she reminds me of poems built from leftover rhymes
Why she puts on her socks and her shoes one foot at a time
But I don't know how she wears a floor length coat without dragging it along
And I don't know how she can love the singer
And I don't know how she can love the singer
And I don't know how she can love the singer but not the songs

I know exactly how long she likes her tea bag to steep
And just what she wants to hear most before she falls asleep
I know what it means when she adds one more name to her list
And she doesn't think I do, but I know just whatÂ’s clenched in her fist
But I don't know why she laughs at my jokes when the punchlines are wrong
And I don't know how she can love the singer
And I don't know how she can love the singer
And I don't know how she can love the singer but not the songs

In my craft and sullen art I sit and labor all day
The phony rubies in her necklace brush the table as she sways
And her eyes are like burned out wheatfields with smoke rising up through the snow
The music that she loves the best gets inside me and follows wherever I go

I know why she drives like she's trying to get us both killed
What she does with the porcelain angels she buys at Goodwill
Why she clings to the city like she holds her pillow so tight
And I know why she sneaks out of bed and sits on the roof late at night
But I don't know if she thinks that I should go when it gets close to dawn
And I don't know how she can love the singer
And I don't know how she can love the singer
And I don't know how she can love the singer but not the songs


Lyrics submitted by TheIntimindator27

But Not the Songs song meanings
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