among the twisted terraces on a winter day
leaves swirl down from a grey roof
inside where its so warm
so warm being here with you
i dont know what im liable to say next
do you?
words pound n hound me thru the daylight hours
i am not mad
i cant go mad
its impossible
some sane english core
holds me to the light
the way you hold me to the dark
in the dark room
the door is always closed
what goes on in there?
what is obtainable in there?
muse : what do you want?
whatever youve got…
(sound of faraway mocking laughter)
i knock at your door
you feel me outside for a moment
before i suddenly enter
its so dark
a heady smell permeates the room
the darkness is blinding me
i know youre here somewhere
so white amongst the black
vanished into an other dimension
waiting on the turning seasons
now im all at sea
i feel giddy
i feel uninvited
i feel a little weekend
i standing illuminated against city lights
sydney pulses n throbs along outside here
the drizzle comes back and floats in the porthole window
the curtains are still in the stillness
the music….what is that?
piano mournful strings soft washing drums
a man sings something
a dead man now im sure it is
dead for a long time now
the music is very old
no now i recognize this song
why its….
no
it cant be me
no it cant be
oh i can make out the words
is this the kind of thing you do
with everything i gave to you
did you ever stop to see
you never gave yourself to me
the violins slur and blur
the french horns answer sadly
the man whistles the melody
like hes walking along a deserted euro street in november
you can see his raincoat and the cigarrette smoke
is this what you wanted me to see?
i mistakenly open the wardrobe
and i see myself in the mirror
oh im looking olde and young
muse : where did all that time go?
as i move my face back n forth in the half light
planes and angles are revealed and concealed
lines and wrinkles appear and disappear
my grey eyes are vague with swollen pupils
i grope at the clothes hoping to find something
that obviously eludes me
baby where are you ?im calling into the quicksilver dark
i say quicksilver because it also eludes me
i remain somehow outside of it
baby? you say in your soft voice and lovely accent
and the word slides around changing into foreign syllables
until i cant understand it at all
baby how do make all that stuff up? youre asking in the candledark
what stuff? im trying to say but my mouth is full of darkness
its acidic taste curdles on my tongue
setting my teeth on edge
baby what are you doing here? shes asking
the room feels more like outside to me
i mistook the cold for warmth
i am in the alley
out the back of….
somewhere
i guess