Tuesday, September 2, 2014

The Writer

You wait for a silence
I wait for a word
Lying next to your frame
Girl unobserved
You change your position
And you're changing me
Casting these shadows
Where they shouldn't be

We're interrupted
By the heat of the sun
Trying to prevent
What's already begun
Oh, you're just a body
I can smell your skin
And when we feel it
You're wearing thin

Oh, but I've got a plan
And why don't you be the artist?
And make me out of clay?
Why don't you be the writer?
And decide the words I say?
'Cause I'd rather pretend
I'll still be there at the end
Only it's too hard to ask
Won't you try to help me?

Sat on your sofa
It's all broken springs
This isn't the place for
Those violin strings
Oh, I try out a smile
And I aim it at you
Oh, you must have missed it
You always do

Oh, but I've got a plan
And why don't you be the artist?
And make me out of clay?
Oh, why don't you be the writer?
And decide the words I say?
‘Cause I'd rather pretend
I'll still be there at the end
Only it’s too hard to ask
Won't you try to help me?




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