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You played your piano every night: black keys, white keys, ten at a time
I hemmed and hawed, my eyes did roll jealous of your old piano
I played my part every night, yelled, "The Second Hurricane’s coming"
Polly, I should be your only man, who’s this one, this one errant Copeland?
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You told me not to hem and haw and stop my eyes from rolling
You handed me that leather-bound book, wouldn’t you know it’s by that errant Copeland?
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What should I read into this song?
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My right hand it follows your left handed mis-tempos
His words from the shadows I carve in your piano
Your right hand commanded his left hand of tragic
So Polly, he wrote it, and I read it in his leather-bound book
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Top of Jackass one can see like hell. I pushed your piano though it had no wheels
You sat down to the grandest view, said, "Finally love this one’s for you"
Halfway through the first page break your piano caught a hurricane
This wasn’t how that book did end; at your wake I’ll sing them songs of errant Copeland
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What should I read into this song?
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My right hand it follows your left handed mis-tempos
His words from the shadows I carve in your piano
Your right hand commanded his left hand of tragic
So Polly, he wrote it, and I read it in his leather-bound book
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I braced and cleated your piano’s case. I lined it in crushed velvet
I cut his pages to a pillow’s fit, and every night I sleep inside it
When they lay me down to rest your piano will be my coffin-bed
On the inside of the piano lid I burned the words of what my love said
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What should I read into this song?
On the inside of my sealed lid what is there to read into?
Well, I’m your jackass…
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