Lyrics

The girl with the hobo bag and long golden hair
Holds her back at an angle that says I don’t care
And her eyelids wear colors that match a long skirt
And her breasts are like grapes tucked up under her shirt
There’s a guy on the train who pretends he’s engrossed
By the paperback novel instead of the ghost
Of the girl who slides by and then falls on the seat
And the story goes on to young love at nineteen.

Save it up save it up for when you’re old
Tuck it into a pocket for when you grow cold
To roll between your fingers warming the bones
The memories of life and of where you came from

The sweet sound of laughter drifts over the lawn
And the cigarette smoke plays a faint festive song
And if I could bottle the smells of the day
There’d be cut grass and charcoal and sparkers and hay
There’s a kid with a turtle its shell painted red
But it won’t join the race it won’t poke out its head
And the gin and the tonic swirls around ice
And the grown-ups aren’t paying attention tonight

Save it up save it up for when you’re old
Tuck it into a pocket for when you grow cold
To roll between your fingers warming the bones
The memories of life and of where you came from
Time waltzes on turning the days into night . . . .

The dim bar room light barely reaches our booth
And the foamy sweet beer seems a potion for truth
And you reach out and hold my fingers so tight
And listen with care as I untangle my life
And the cool morning light rests so soft on your cheek
The rumpled boys hair sticking up as you sleep
And I’ll love you forever my sleepy mind sighs
And then I fall back to sleep with my dreams in my eye
Snapshots save it up . . . snapshots