At Your Bedside
We always return to the cause of things:
a fridge that rattles in the dead of night
the journey of clocks into the blue-time –
nothing occurs without its good reason.
a fridge that rattles in the dead of night
the journey of clocks into the blue-time –
nothing occurs without its good reason.
A fridge that rattles in the dead of night
the white bed where we sit with you:
nothing occurs without its good reason –
starlight sends an echo from the past.
the white bed where we sit with you:
nothing occurs without its good reason –
starlight sends an echo from the past.
The white bed where we sit with you
and hold your hand to catch you falling –
starlight sends an echo from the past
that tastes of salt more pungent than oceans.
and hold your hand to catch you falling –
starlight sends an echo from the past
that tastes of salt more pungent than oceans.
And hold your hand to catch you falling,
to catch the world that’s poised on your lips
that tastes of salt more pungent than oceans
and the scent of lilies deepening the air.
to catch the world that’s poised on your lips
that tastes of salt more pungent than oceans
and the scent of lilies deepening the air.
To catch the world that’s poised on your lips,
the flutter of feet as they slip away
and the scent of lilies deepening the air
unwind the coil into its silence.
the flutter of feet as they slip away
and the scent of lilies deepening the air
unwind the coil into its silence.
The flutter of feet as they slip away
the journey of clocks into the blue-time
unwind the coil into its silence –
we always return to the cause of things.
the journey of clocks into the blue-time
unwind the coil into its silence –
we always return to the cause of things.