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Her father was an astronaut and all the other things The little boys dreamed about Staring at the ceiling, laying on their backs and bellies Caught up in the season, playing on the front porch swinging Baseballs in the back lots, talking words that don't have meanings Her father was an astronaut Her father was a cowboy riding towards the big sun setting Bullets in the bad guys Beans around the campfire singing Tunes about the old trails, talking words that don't have meanings Her father was a cowboy In my sleep my hair grows It's hard to keep these things we have in common anymore Her father was a prostitute Selling his own body to men across the business table Out to make an offer, talking words that don't have meaning Her father was a prostitute In the rainstorm windshield wipers Steer the fates of the car drivers I am putting all my faith in these doors keeping All my secrets safe and warm It's not certain whether you are right or you are wrong Letras de cancionesIt's not certain whether plane tickets will break my fall But I'm hoping that sitting next to the telephone twisting Cords will keep me until the time you call Her father was a Casanova Her father was a palindrome Her father was a picture taker Her father held the head of the woman that he loved in his own hands Her blood is yours, her blood is mine And we will burst inside these borders, clinging tight to these ideas But it's hard to keep these things we have in common anymore (Thanks to Ashley for these lyrics) From Letras Mania