The icons cluttering your bureau
Are eyeing me as I walk in
Your guardians are present in here
And I trust that they have always been
Hiding somewhere in your closet
Collecting moisture from your face
Your secret world speaks without words
And I feel clumsy and cumbersome in this place
But if I want them too will they speak to me soon
In a language ripe for my listening?
When the harsh sun breaks in your stained glass eyes
The refracted light keeps glistening
A drapery of clashing fabrics in every corner of your room
They hung like lace on the whitewashed face
Of the walls that are begging you to move
And leave the things that hold a history
As if they're present in your will
A brand new place a few miles away
But I just wasn't sure I was staying still
But if you choose too it's a honest move
And I guess that it makes for no deferences
There's a gleam of blue from a cold night's moon
Just a touch too soon, two deliverances
On an empty panel floor
I lie here for communion
Just waiting for one more
But in the quiet empty hours of my afternoon
What am I supposed to do?
But if I want them too will they come to me soon?
Will they fluctuate between midnight and past noon?
Was kind of banking on a future that'd be involving you
But I couldn't ask this of you
In this young night's sky
There are pinhole lights
Find the shape of a harp and an arrowhead
Do I hear your tunes or acknowledge wounds
That I got from rubbing elbows
With a sharpened edge?
But if I choose this too does it count as my move?
I can't drop my history just to become new
Now swimming through the nothingness and the absolute
But I couldn't ask this of you