Lyrics
It's neither small, it's neither strong.
It's the meaning of a song.
A window loose, brittle and true,
inside and out, smashing sky.
Chipped old wet paint, cerulean blue,
we stare up, art is not true.
One sable brush, songs are over sung,
a gift returned, photo's hung.
Piped answers smoked in wood.
Somehow it seems understood.
Hallway between twelve inches of stone,
a hat, a lock, a warning call alone.
The distance between the glass and the thing.
A sight promised, unseen.
The lid holding the steam, boiling the sky,
vows not entered, signatures dry.
Above the prayer, abiding the wind,
the shaking of a brook, a plastic pool,
a kitten's bite, feathered teeth,
a maid and a rose brush groomed inside from the start.
Above the prayer, abiding the wind,
the shaking of a brook, a plastic pool,
a kitten's bite, feathered teeth,
a maid and a rose brush groomed inside from the start.
Piped answers smoked in wood.
Somehow it seems understood.
Hallway between twelve inches of stone,
a hat, a lock, a warning call alone.
A paper cut, a paper moon,
strung thin, radioed in.
A master's tape, for seeing no fog,
a rum-aging shave, a filtered hide.
inside from the start
