Drifting existing in perfect circles

Watching the sky in peace undisturbed. I have to wonder what the shaded sky is hiding, what secrets these gathered clouds are keeping from me. And the moon, waxing now and waning again in lyric time, it's got a knowing crescent smile hung high up in the plastic night - out of my reach, and the Devil knows my hands are trying. So you're the love of another lifetime, a heart hanging in another soul; what's one child to do when everything so hopelessly changes for worse and the worst?

Can't creep back down the street of that day. Lamplight extinguished, windows dark, boarded-up and brooding, and somewhere the cars' tired sighs on the immortal highway passes through me like every story I've never heard already.

And while I lie in stillness, you are the shadow that stands in the opened door

    is this what it's for?

That long-ago reverie, startled into confusion by the rushing of the river, something faded and deeper than the sparkling impersonality of the dream-existing daytime

But I'm not that girl anymore.

Keep those secrets hidden from me, and all that dark music and lingering smoke can outlast my memory, though I wish it wouldn't. It's time to leave again, I think, and if sleepless nights and restless turning are any indication, those angels never sang a truer song than this one.

 Is it what everyone already knows?

On one hundred and seventy-first street, a light went out. Window closed. Shades drawn from the ghosts of a yesterday you never knew. And how does it feel so real? Chasing this dream that no one feels. The street never looked so busy before

Before you step into that anesthetic underground,

  remember the stirring of the divinity under the river. Restlessly, like the storm upon the sea

      Answered prayers, they drift down to melt upon that accusing outstretched forefinger.

Grey mornings, the kind without you in them

And the fog unrolls for ever until it touches your toes on the seashore, with the waves pleading retreating needing you - and you walk like a half-gone dreamer would, faultlessly on that forsaken strand.

As unfathomable as the storm reflected in your ocean eyes

Burned clean away, without even the ashes to remember, because the days of black magic and old smoke have long since passed by. And who, in the end, is the white nights dreamer? I'm still afraid that I haven't yet woken up and when I do, I will not be able to see for all the phantoms of the ones I left behind - I wasn't supposed to fall so far.

I'd walk - and walk - further from me and no closer to you, always turning and never finding.

And this time last year, is when that life began - ripped out of the dying sky, how cruel and casual it felt to be loved by you.

And why can't I close my eyes and let it go? Fearing nothing and afraid of everything resurrecting bits of glass to join together again that imperfect wonder; you gave me your impurities and now it shows, blood-red footprints on the walls of my heart.

But it's all over now.