London Plane Trees Grow in Philly Lyrics by Annabelle Dinda
Vats of hydrochloric acid
Pickling steel and scouring cabinets
Also line our sour stomachs
What can *** us will become us
I’m obsessed with cemeteries
Tangible, contemporary
Even trees are partly buried
Dig the roots so they can carry
Dig the roots so we can carry
I get it I get it I get it I get I get it I get it I get it I get
Do we teach our kids to scatter?
Climb their poles and kick the ladder
Carpe diem, sharp beneath them
Fall to pieces, what’s the matter?
I like knowing who will love me
I like how my loved ones bug me
What a privilege to be choosy
Not a privilege, but a duty
Not a privilege, but a duty
I get it I get it I get it I get I get it I get it I get it I get
I get *** when things I wonder
Someone tries to write in numbers
When the rain comes I recover
Rain reminds me of my brother
When I start catastrophizing
I call you to stem the rising
Ache of living fear of dying:
They’re the same! Says fate while sighing
They’re the same! Says fate while sighing
I get it I get it I get it I get I get it I get it I get it I get
One man’s jaguar in the 80s
I am his wife’s baby’s baby
And like Marcel in his teacup
I am partial to the lead up
London plane trees, I call Henry
Ask him why they plant so many
Half a life in New York City
London plane trees grow in Philly
London plane trees grow in Philly
I get it I get it I get it I get I get it I get it I get it I get
I get it I get it I get it I get I get it I get it I get it I get