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about
Clara is in her dress
and it's her sunday best
keepin' up appearances for the old folks
in her pocket she hides all of her smokes
but, pretty as she is
there are those things she did
she can't erase from the back of her eyelids
I've known her since we were kids
and I know she's been tellin' lies
can't get to sleep at night
every time she tries
she just can't get it right
it's like she got the wind
all knocked out and
someone punched out her lights
hangin' from the ceiling
the colors golden and gleaming
everyone comes for miles to stare
it's like I'm not even there
and in her lasting sleep
she's caught in a dream
no longer got any care
with the ribbons and the flowers in her hair
so I say, "Just sleep, baby, sleep.
No need to answer me.
You're the light that's shone through the deep.
Sleep, baby, sleep.
The grass will all turn green.
The sky will light up blue again."
And she is like the sun
so nice to everyone
and her troubles are just the core of her outward beauty
and nobody now
could ever leave her be
not even her own baby