To the name of this town in a desk-top globe
Exit wound in a foreign nation
Showing the home of the one this was written for
My apartment looks upside down from there
Water spirals the wrong way out the sink
And her voice is a backwards record
It's llike a whirlpool, it never ends

CHORUS
Ana Ng and I are getting old
And we still haven't walked in  the glow of each other's majestic presence
Listen Ana hear my words
They're the ones you would think I would say if there was a me for you

All alone at the '64 World's Fair
Eighty dolls yelling "Small girl after all"
Who was at the Dupont Pavilion
Why was the bench still warm? Who had been there?
Or the time when the storm tangled up the wires
To the horn on the pole at the bus depot
And in  the back of the edge of hearing
these are the words  the voice was repeating:

CHORUS

when I was driving once I saw this painted on a bridge:
"I don't want the world, I just want your half"

They don't need me here, and I know you're there
Where the world goes by like the humid air
And it sticks like a broken record
Everything sticks until it goes away
And the truth is, we don't know anything

CHORUS
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