Armchairs

This is my interpretation of the song Armchairs by Andrew Bird. It’s different than how he plays it on Armchair Apocrypha but I think it works and sounds nice particularly if you don’t want to fingerpick! I dreamed you were a cosmonaut Of the space between our chairs And I was a cartographer Of the tangles in your hair I sang the song that silence brings It’s the one that everybody knows Yah everybody knows the song that silence sings And this is how it goes These looms that weave apocrypha They’re hanging from a strand These dark and empty rooms are full Of incandescent hands Awkward pause Fatal flaws And time it’s a crooked bow Time’s a crooked bow In time you need to learn to love The ebb just like the flow Grab hold of your bootstraps and pull like hell Till gravity feels sorry for you and lets you go As if you lack the proper chemicals to know The way it felt the last time you let yourself fall this low Time time it’s a crooked bow Time’s a crooked bow Time’s a crooked bow Oh       Fifty-five and three-eighths years later At the bottom of this gigantic crater An armchair calls to you Yeah this armchair calls to you And it says I think someday We’ll get back at them all With epoxy and a pair of pliers As ancient sea slugs begin to crawl Through the ragweed and barbed wire You didn’t write You didn’t call It didn’t cross your mind at all Through the waves The waves of AM squall You couldn’t feel a thing at all Fifty-five and three-eighths Time Fifty-five and three-eighths Time Time Time