i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
just my typewriter and me

i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
just the quiver of the trees, the taste of the sun,
my typewriter, and me

i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
just the song caught in my head, the quiver of the trees, the taste of the sun,
my typewriter, and me

i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
just the old ache of heartbreak, the song caught in my head, the quiver of the trees, the taste of the sun,
my typewriter, and me

i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
just the memories of friends, the old ache of heartbreak, the song caught in my head, the quiver of the trees, the taste of the sun,
my typewriter, and me

i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
just delusions of grandeur, self-doubt for forever, the memories of friends, the old ache of heartbreak, the song caught in my head, the quiver of the trees, the taste of the sun,
my typewriter, and me

i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
just unending in the background, humming in my head, just a thousand little signals that i might have just misread, just the thought that if i screw it up i’m wasting what i’ve got, just the need i have to think of every thing i’ve never thought,
just delusions of grandeur, self-doubt for forever, the memories of friends, the old ache of heartbreak, the song caught in my head, the quiver of the trees, the taste of the sun,
my typewriter, and me

i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
just a softness in my heart, and my fingertips are cold, just a dream i have of living in a cottage when i’m old, just a reconciliation of reality and wants, just doodles on my palm of my indiana haunts,
and unending in the background, humming in my head, just a thousand little signals that i might have just misread, just the thought that if i screw it up i’m wasting what i’ve got, just the need i have to think of every thing i’ve never thought,
just delusions of grandeur, self-doubt for forever, the memories of friends, the old ache of heartbreak, the song caught in my head, the quiver of the trees, the taste of the sun,
my typewriter, and me

i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
i like to sit alone on my roof, writing
just a cool line from hamlet, a rhyme that i like, and the scars on my finger from crashing my bike,
just a softness in my heart, and my fingertips are cold, just a dream i have of living in a cottage when i’m old, just a reconciliation of reality and wants, just doodles on my palm of my indiana haunts,
and unending in the background, humming in my head, just a thousand little signals that i might have just misread, just the thought that if i screw it up i’m wasting what i’ve got, just the need i have to think of every thing i’ve never thought,
just delusions of grandeur, self-doubt for forever, the memories of friends, the old ache of heartbreak, the song caught in my head, the quiver of the trees, the taste of the sun,
my typewriter, and me

just my typewriter, and me