Little Bombs — Aimee Mann

From the 22nd floor Walking down the corridor Looking out the picture window down On Sycamore

While perspective lines converge Rows of cars and buses merge All the sweet green trees of Atlanta burst Like little bombs Or little pom-poms Shaken by a careless hand That drives them off And leaves again

Life just kind of empties out Less a deluge than a drought Less a giant mushroom cloud Than an unexploded shell Inside a cell Of the Lennox Hotel

On the 22nd floor Found a notice on my door While outside, the sun is shining on Those little bombs Those little pom-poms

Life just kind of empties out Less a deluge than a drought Less a giant mushroom cloud Than an unexploded shell Inside a cell Of the Lennox Hotel

Inside a cell Of the Lennox Hotel

Inside a cell Of the Lennox Hotel

Inside a cell Of the Lennox Hotel