She cuts off the heads of flowers, saves the stems for a rainy day in June, and her words still cloud my view, I caught her once or twice, rhyming in riddles and in a way it was sweet just to hear her pretty voice, singing method in my madness, method in my madness, method in my madness is what she swore, she reads from Samuel Coleridge, quotes the verse to a phantom audience, how her smile could move my soul, and even now I hear a distant echo that rings in my ears and I swear I can hear her pretty voice, singing method in my madness, method in my madness, she said, method in my madness was what she swore.
© 1994 Lyrics by N.Thomas. All rights reserved.