Lissie "Record Collector" paroles

Record Collector

I'm tired of sayingThat I won't get lost ever againWho knows, maybe I willAnd everywhere I goThere I'll beWith a rust old rake in a pile of leavesOh my, truly daunting

But my blue eyesCannot seeThat their real hue is probably greenI should keep records of these thingsAnd I'll know what yesterdays bring

I'm, I'm not really sureBut I'm starting to think that I've been here beforeWho knowsMaybe I haveAnd everywhere I wentThere I was with a choir of beesThey were all a buzzOh my, how amusing

But my blue eyesCannot seeThat their real hue is probably greenI should keep records of these thingsAnd I'll know what yesterdays bring

But...One time, there was this one timeWhen I swore God, she spoke to meAnd she told me, oh yes she told meOf all the wonder that she could bringAnd I said,

Won't you, won't you fill me up with it, won't you fill me up with it,Won't you fill meWon't you, won't you fill me up with it, why don't you fill me up with it,Why don't you fill meWon't you, won't you fill me up with it, why do't you fill me up with it,Why don't you fill me

But my blue eyesCannot seeThat their real hue is probably greenI should keep records of these thingsAnd I'll know what yesterdays bring

I am always here with meAnd I'll know what yesterdays bring