Fig Tree

The older I get The taller I feel So I slouch my shoulders At ninety degrees And we are the carpet They expect to be clean But they burst in with boots on And they marched over me And now I'm striped with red dirt And so are my dreams But we're gonna scrub them clean one of these days There's a broken dish at your feet If you look closely it resembles me Don't try to fix me I'll make your fingers bleed These 48-year-olds They're talking to me They tell me what to do to To be happy To make money To please somebody Who doesn't love me They don't love anybody Do you remember the days Of diving into the sea Do you recall tongue to skin was so salty And now you're covered in brine You say you'll never grow old But you will die in the pickle jar With your sour soul Oh, Sylvia was talking to me As we sat at the base of a fig tree She said, "I'm so hungry I don't know which one to eat" And as we spoke the fruit shriveled to nothing These 48-year-olds They're talking to me They tell me what to do to To be happy To make money To please somebody Who doesn't love me They don't love anybody What do you know, really? I wanna learn Won't you tell me? How you're gonna help Help me How many nights have you missed An open sky, starlit? How about the taste of citrus? I don't know about you, but I need this These 48-year-olds They're talking to me They tell me what to do to To be happy To make money To please somebody Who doesn't love me They don't love anybody