Arianne is april morning, that comes rippling through my window.

She's the smell of coffee brewing, on a quiet, rainy sunday.

She's the purring of a kitten,

that has made my neck a pillow for his head.

Arianne is silly music that my father used to whistle.

She's the new leaf on a fire

that I had given up last winter

And what writers have to feel like when they suddenly discover they've been read.

Arianne is momma's crystal bread that's nearly finished baking

She's a rainbow in a puddle

and the happiest birthday

she's a'goin out on friday and a'comin back on monday with a tan.

Arianne is made of feelings so I milk her of her kisses

And I swallow up her breathing and I taste her where she love me

And I'm filled to overflowing but there's always room for more Arianne

Arianne is momma's crystal bread that's nearly finished baking

She's a rainbow in a puddle

And the happiest birthday

She's a goin out on friday and a comin back on monday with a tan.

Arianne is made of feelings so I milk her of her kisses

And I swallow up her breathing and I taste her where she love me

And I'm filled to overflowing

but there's always room for more arianne