Ides of Swing - Andrew Bird

Some say April is the cruelist

And though I can be quite morose

The stiff who penned it on a fool’s list of those who are chronically verbose

When your head starts craning back

And your breath comes short and fast

The music of the spheres start to bounce and sing

That’s when you know you’re swinging

When your eyes roll back into your head

And the sap of the trees on your fingers have bled

Swooning to the charms of Mephisto’s waltz

That’s when you know you’ve got some schmaltz

When you’ve got the evil eye and unconsciously growl

Your hands start shaking and you crouch and prowl

These terryifing symptoms are a sure-fire sign

That you’re pimpin baby and your feeling fine

When you make love to whomever you please

And a bullet to the head feels like a soft warm breeze

Red suit green suit they’re all there scheming

That’s when you know you’re dreaming

Yes you’re dreaming, you are dreaming

I hope you are dreaming