A clicking clock ticks in the corner of a tall narrow room.
A flickering candle lights up this tall narrow room.
A mirror hangs on the north wall.
A mirror hangs on the south wall.
They keep each other's secrets,
just like old friends.
Judas in the cupboard and Mary in the sink.
It's less than you think,
but it's good enough to bring me back home.
Last night I dreamed of a beautiful house on a lake.
A rowboat was tethered down to a small wooden dock.
And the sunlight on the waves,
it looked just like a mirror,
or an overexposed photograph
of old friends.
Daughters like the day will dance forever in our hearts.
Sons will fall apart and the space they leave behind, we call home.
You can't do what you want but what you want can do you.
No you can't do that.
We tried to live the waking life
but it bored us back to sleep.
Well rigor my mortis, the tortoise is coming back home.