Do you still go to the Magpie store With the vintage fur coats And jewelry-laden drawers? Do you still talk in hieroglyphs and wit From books you've read And films full of pith? Christ, can we just have a conversation? Where money and ambition fall away There's a garden full of sweet pea and carnations We'll lie out on the grass there someday Someday My, Mrs Dalloway My, Mrs Dalloway Sketching women in summertime cafes So reluctant to go home Do you still cry as you pull into the drive Thinking "God, is this it What it means to be alive?" Do you still paint every Sunday when you wake? I recall you used to point out Every subtle flawed mistake I still don't know the names of constellations Or the true circumference of the Earth But Christ, can we just have a conversation? Where you are self-endowed with silver worth Silver worth My, Mrs Dalloway My, Mrs Dalloway Sketching women in summertime cafes So reluctant to go home My, Mrs Dalloway My, Mrs Dalloway Sketching women in summertime cafes So reluctant to go home My, Mrs Dalloway My, Mrs Dalloway Sketching women in summertime cafes So reluctant to go home