A Dancer
who got high in a field found of a moment
took a breath from his way home
he saw trees that rotted north
he felt empty for the little kinds of heavens
he hoped his girl would have flowers in her hair

And the Dancer
who got high 'cause his feet had good rhythm
found himself away for weeks
that passed slower than a sloth
on the grill he cooked his heart in orange embers
he hoped his girl still had flowers in her hair

He said sometimes I guess I have to miss my wife.

But am I the little Dancer who is missing you while you're gone?
And am I the funny Dancer who is singing this funny song.
Does the Dancer look at me and does he recognize all his wrongs
Do I write write about myself because I wont be this way very long
To hold you in time
To hold you in time
To hold you in time
To hold you in time

And the Dancer
who came home from his field felt kinda awkward.
He felt happy, he couldn't wait
he burst open that good lock
he felt ecstasy and little pins of heat
he saw his girl still had flowers in her hair

shhhhhhh
(I'm a Dancer)