Tori Amos. Spring Haze. Zeneszám

Well, I know it's just a spring haze. But I don't much like the look of it.
And if omens are a god-send like men, breezing in.
Certain these clouds go somewhere, billowing out to somewhere.
In a single engine Cessna-ha, you say we'll never make it there.
So all we do is circle it.

Uh oh, let go, off on my way. Unseen this eternal wanting.
Uh oh, way to go, so I get creamed. Waiting for Sunday to drown.
Uh oh, way to go, waiting on Sunday, waiting on Sunday to land.
Uh oh, way to go, waiting on Sunday, waiting on Sunday to drown.


So, I know it's just a spring haze, but I don't much like the look of it.
And all we do is circle it, and I found out where my edge is.
And it bleeds into where you resist. And my only way, way out is to go so far in.
Billowing out to somewhere. Billowing out Luna Riviera. Billowing out to somewhere.


Uh oh, let go, off on my way. Unseen this eternal wanting.
Let go, so if I, really get creamed.
Waiting for Sunday to drown. Waiting on Sunday to... drown...
Why-does-it always end up like this?
Why-does-it always end up like this?
Why-does-it always end up like this?


Let go, uh oh, off on my way. Unseen this eternal wanting.
Let go, way to go, so I get creamed. Waiting on Sunday to drown.
Uh oh, waiting on, waiting on Sunday, waiting on Sunday to land, yea.
Uh oh, waiting on, waiting on Sunday.
Waiting on Sunday to drown. Waiting on Sunday to drown...
Waiting on Sunday, waiting on Sunday to land.
Uh oh, so if I really get creamed. Waiting for Sunday to drown...