Make a hole with a gun perpendicular
to the name of this town in a desktop globe
exit wound in a foreign nation
showing the home of the one this was written for

My apartment looks upside down from there
water spirals the wrong way out the sink
and her voice is a backwards record
it's like a whirl pool and it never ends

CHORUS:
Ana Ng and I are getting old
and we still haven't walked in the glow
of each others' majestic presence
Listen, Ana, hear my words
They're the ones you would think I would say
If there was a me for you

All alone at the '64 World's Fair
80 dolls yelling "Small girl after all"
Who was at the DuPont pavillion?
Why was the bench still warm?
Who had been there?

Or the time when the storm tangled up the wire
to the horn on the pole at the bus depot
And in back of the edge of hearing
These are the words that the voice was repeating

CHORUS

When I was driving once
I saw this painted on a bridge
"I don't want the world, I just want your half"

They don't need me here, and I know you're there
Where the world goes by like the humid air
and it sticks like a broken record
everything sticks like a broken record
everything sticks until it goes away
and the truth is we don't know anything

CHORUS repreated, gradually fades away