Joan's Bones

She said her name was Joan
 That was the day
 When I met her
 Then she said goodbye
 She had an appointment
 An appointment to die so I said,
 "Hey, don't let me be in your way"
 She said, "No, that's alright"
 She meant so much to me
 I think I will carry
 They rattle like leaves
 Shake like old cans
 She was a saint who died on the sand
 Chopstick fingerees
 Elbows look like scones
 Not even a giraffe could have bones like Joan's
 Hips like the sea
 Shins just like trees
 Got to carry Joan's bones or she won't marry me
 I got some in my pocket
 And some I keep in a bag
 But mostly of Joan's bones you carry in a wagon
 So I said "Hey, don't let me be in your way"
 She said "No, that's ok. It could take a while"
 And from eye to eye she smiles
 And the sun sits so still
 And the sand waits until
 Joan begins to laugh
 From her belly to her calf
 She meant so much to me
 I think I will carry
 They rattle like leaves
 And shake like old cans
 She was a saint who died on the sand
 Chopstick fingerees
 Elbows look like scones
 Not even a giraffe could have bones like Joan's
 Hips like the sea
 Shins just like trees
 Got to carry Joan's bones 'cause she won't marry me
 I got some in my pocket
 And some I keep in a bag
 But mostly of Joan's bones you carry in a wagon
 Have you ever seen the marrow of a saint
 The joke of a soul, the toes of a Joan
 Strewn all about, bleached in the sun
 Hardly a trace of the clown-like face
 Have you ever seen the marrow of a saint
 The joke of a soul, the toes of a Joan
 Strewn all about, bleached in the sun
 Hardly a trace of the clown-like face
 They rattle like leaves
 And shake like old cans
 She was a saint who died on the sand
 Chopstick fingerees
 Elbows look like scones
 Not even a giraffe could have bones like Joan's
 Hips like the sea
 Shins just like trees
 Got to carry Joan's bones or she won't marry me
 I got some in my pocket
 And some I keep in a bag
 But mostly of Joan's bones you carry in a wagon
 They rattle just like leaves
 And shake like old cans
 She was the saint who died on my sand
 Chopstick fingerees
 Elbows look like scones
 Not even a giraffe could have bones like Joan's
 Hips like the sea
 Shins just like trees
 Got to carry Joan's bones or she won't marry me
 They rattle just like leaves
 And shake like old cans
 She was a saint who died on the sand
 Chopstick fingerees
 Elbows look like scones
 Not even a giraffe could have bones like Joan's
 They rattle just like leaves
 And shake like old cans