There's a shadow in the door frame

With a hunger for the highway

The poison from the bee sting

The mirrors on the ceiling

The thunder and the lightning

The hibernating heart sings out
And I shake the hand of the seamstress
Pinning up the clouds like patches

A little bit blue around the edges

Hanging all the quilts from the ceilings
Another room, another day, another season
Another feeling
Another reason to call me a liar
Standing in the park beside the fire
Stepping over lines that I had drawn there

There's a quiet conversation

A discarded invitation

A statue on the fountain

A molehill on the mountain

A river through the kitchen

We're swimming in basement now
And I met the ghost in the mirror
Gave me quite a fright but I came nearer
Told me all his secrets in a whisper
And I had my palm read by
the psychic weather reporter

Said he was a wicked fortune teller

Gazing at the glowing teleprompter