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Trisha G.: View from the Presbyterian parking lot.
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Trisha G.: Everything that I do reminds me of you.
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Trisha G.: Relax a little; one of your most celebrated nervous tics will be your undoing.
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Trisha G.: Sky.
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Trisha G.: 787
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Trisha G.: 23 Cloudhouette.
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Trisha G.: I wanna tell you everything but I can't find the words.
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Trisha G.: I'd wash her hair like the swirling sky.
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Trisha G.: Hold out.
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Trisha G.: GSI
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Trisha G.: Ever notice?
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Trisha G.: But I never heard them ringing. No, I never heard them at all. Till there was you.
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Trisha G.: Sky.
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Trisha G.: Late afternoon.
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Trisha G.: Drive-by sky. Captivating, huh?
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Trisha G.: The view to my rear.
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Trisha G.: Birds and junk.
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Trisha G.: Goodnight, Ohio.
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Trisha G.: God loves the thrift store parking lot.
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Trisha G.: Up there. In that sky.
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Trisha G.: Drive-by sky.
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Trisha G.:
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Trisha G.: I'm not the kind of girl who gives up just like that.
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Trisha G.: Homeward bound.
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Trisha G.: Bottom heavy.
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Trisha G.: More. Give me more. Give me more, more, more.
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Trisha G.: It was hot. But the sky didn't know it.
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Trisha G.: Elephant fetus clouds.
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Trisha G.: Barn. I always mistype that as bran. But I do eat enough fiber, so I don't know what that means.
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Trisha G.: Tell Mike Dragan I love him.