My friend calls me up.
She says, “How’ve you been?”
I say “Dear, I’ve been well.
Yeah, the money’s comin’,
but I miss you like hell.
I still hear you in this old piano, yeah.”
She says “Andy, I know
that we don’t talk as much,
but I still hear your ghost
In these old punk rock clubs.
Come on, write me a song.
Give me something to trust.
Just promise you won’t let it be
just the keys that you touch.”
Give me something to believe in,
A breath from the breathing
So write it down,
I don’t think that I’ll close my eyes.
‘Cause lately I’m not dreaming,
So what’s the point in sleeping?
It’s just that at night,
I’ve got nowhere to hide.
So I write you a lullaby.
A lullaby.
