Lyrics

Ophelia’s alone in the street light glow Walking past the bars in the night
There goes Rose with a cowboy she knows Guess we’re all looking for light in the dark

The poet lost her pen
In the floor cracks and gin
The tarot and the turntable spin and spin
She goes down so smooth
She’s a half written muse
And grace has become
Another whiskey blond
Ophelia’s in the zone with her headphones on Working to her favorite songs
Philosophers are tokin’, the White Horse is smokin’
They’re all looking for a place to belong
She puts out a vase in a prominent place Collects pieces of paper with Washington’s face
Is this the stuff dreams are made of
Tequila shot and upright bass?

The preacher lost his prayer
Through the cracks in the stairs
The hipsters and hypocrites put on airs
They all look so smooth
Unamused in their booths
And Grace has become
Another whiskey blond

She’s trying to grow gold
It keeps coming up dust
Filling her pockets and picture locket
The weatherman’s whispering secrets again Growing pains when the grains are sown

Ophelia’s alone and the streetlights are gone Walking home into the dawn