Okkervil River - A Stone

Hot breath, rough skin, warm laughs and smiling, the loveliest words whispered and meant - you like all these things. But, though you like all these things, you love a stone. You love a stone, because its smooth and its cold. And youd love most to be told that its all your own. You love white veins, you love hard grey, the heaviest weight, the clumsiest shape, the earthiest smell, the hollowest tone - you love a stone. And Im found too fast, called too fond of flames, and then Im phoning my friends, and then Im shouldering the blame, while youre picking pebbles out of the drain, miles ago. Youre out singing songs, and Im down shouting names at the flickerless screen, going fucking insane. Am I losing my cool, overstating my case? Well, baby, what can I say? You know I never claimed that I was a stone. And you love a stone. You love white veins, you love hard grey, the heaviest weight, the clumsiest shape, the earthiest smell, the hollowest tone - you love a stone. You love a stone, because its dark, and its old, and if it could start being alive youd stop living alone. And I think I believe that, if stones could dream, theyd dream of being laid side-by-side, piece-by-piece, and turned into a castle for some towering queen theyre unable to know. And when that queens daughter came of age, I think shed be lovely and
stubborn and brave, and
suitors would journey from
kingdoms away to make
themselves known. And I think that I know the bitter dismay
of a lover who brought fresh
bouquets every day when she
turned him away to remember some knave who once gave just
one rose, one day, year