Pulling myself apart Is quite an art Sometimes too easy At times, a piece might fall And I won't recall Where the streets are leading
I'm always running into myself Or someone else In some strange reaction It's alright, but what's the thrill? I've had my fill Of chromatic passion
When I closed my eyes Her face just passed me by And each crowded room Became an empty sigh And I wondered if I died She said: no, you're only dreaming
Moving like sheets of glass And the scenes all clash In the twilight window So I turned, and looked away But the spark remains In the view that follows