there's a hand at dusk in the wake in the water its mine can you take the palm of it for every time you change your mind you are the flash of skin seen through the leaves of anxious trees the summer's touch just above the knee just above the knee
there's architecture here and there are mountain peaks and places dwelled upon by those who climb much higher than me like so many miles you are compiled into books of maps by men with hands can you believe that we will all get old
it's getting old i know, i know i'll hold your hair back when you're sick it's getting old i know, i know you still look good to me in that knee-length checkered dress it's getting old i know, i know you still look good to me in that knee-length checkered dress it's getting old it's getting old
the emperor of time has been stationed devidends melts into all forms of light (?) i shall crack his bone and chase him to far shores of the sea implicate my dark appetite the emperor of time has been stationed when the paper ends, it melts into all forms of light (?) i shall crush his bone and chase him to the white shores of the sea implicate my appetite