@migu music@

@migu music@

If you ask me what streets I'm from

You'd probably laugh at me

You'd expect me to tell you tales

Of friends I'd made ran into trouble with

And all those sorts of things

If you ask me what songs I know

You'd raise your hands in the air

They're not cool, they're not hip

They're not the ones you grew up with

And all those sorts of things

If you ask about the clothes I swear

You wouldn't give the time of day

They're not rude, they're not hip

They're not ones you would be seen in

If you were down to your last penny

If you were down to your last penny

If you ask about technology

You'd roll your eyes in your head

I am one of those fundies who keep up

So as not to get left behind

And all those sorts of things

All those sorts of things

But ask me about

What I know of the original source

What I know about what makes you sore

When you're out in the world alone

Ask me about birds

Ask me about flowers

Ask me about smiling easily

With someone you've only met that day

My little brother didn't come to school today

The teacher didn't seem to know exactly what to say

But I saw him out the window

Gold chiffon and pink flamingo

Oh, those diamond rings

He was younger than I remember

Singing glory hallelujah

I am free of this

All those sorts of things

I asked him about

What he knew of the original source

What he knew about what makes me sore

When I'm out in the world alone

Asked him about birds

Asked him about flowers

Asked him about smiling easily

With someone he'd only met that day

Asked him about groove

Asked him about mothers

Asked him about sunshine in the streets

And faded rain on your windowpane

On truth I'll keep you inspired

Ask me about the hours in your garden

Baby, oh how I loved your face