Plainspeak - Joe Henry

A blind man looks out through your eye

He hears the color of your sigh;

Tastes a laugh upon your thigh, then roars—

Oh, let’s be clear, my sighing balladeer:

I want nothing more than

You to hear me now

There’s red iron in the sliding clay

It stains our knees and turns away

The blood-lusty angels looking to rumble in town—

Oh, let me be clear, my sliding bombardier:

I want nothing more than

You to find me now

Here’s how I’m leaning, word for word

No matter what you think you’ve heard:

When I say, «bird,» I mean a bird, no less and not more—

Oh, let it be clear, my leaning auctioneer:

I want nothing more than

You to raise me now

I’m thirsting after righteous gloom

With daylight streaming in this room;

And the loss of love one day soon may bear me out and away—

But let’s be clear, my streaming volunteer:

I want nothing more than

You to see me now

But let’s be clear, my streaming volunteer:

I want nothing more than

You to hear me now