Song For Myla Goldberg

Myla Goldberg
Sets a steady hand upon her brow
Myla Goldberg
Hangs a crooked foor all upside down

It comes around, it comes around
It comes around, it comes around
It comes around, it comes around
It comes around, it comes around

Pretty hands do pretty things
When pretty times arise
Seraphim in seaweed swim
Where stick-limbed Myla lies

It comes around, it comes around
It comes around, it comes around
It comes around, it comes around
It comes around, it comes around

Still now you're waiting to grow
Inside you're old
Sew wings to your pigeon toes
Put paper to pen and spell out Eliza

We begin with sticky shins
Make sticky then our shoes
Shoes beget to clothes
And hat 'til sticky's sticking too

Finiculi, finicula, finiculi, finicula
Finiculi, finicula, finiculi, finicula

Listen in as shin-kicked Jim
Relates his story sad
'Bout a boy who kicked
Until his shins were all but rubber bands

But now I know New York, I need New York
I know I need unique New York
I know New York, I need New York
I know I need unique New York

Still now you're waiting to grow
Inside you're old
Sew wings to your pigeon toes
Put paper to pen and spell out Eliza

Eliza, Eliza
It comes around, it comes around
It comes around