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To the girl among nightwatchmen |
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My other, my joy with your oil-drum fire |
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You were my gentle unfolding |
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The wool and the dye, the needle and eye |
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These songs you sing as you waltz her up the stairs |
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And the boy smiles at the wheels of the chair |
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We are loved for these things that pass us by |
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All we're good for |
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As the sand flows into the hourglass |
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You hold every grain that it might remain |
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Part of me wants to see you crumble |
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Like those toys on a plinth |
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Pool of alabaster limbs into my arms |
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So that I might have my place |
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Although the crutch may just serve |
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To dull the only blade |
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That you brought to this fight |
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Let's go another round |
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Let's go another round |
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To the girl among nightwatchmen |
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The long fingers of morning |
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Will take you by the hand |
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Precious stones, they're all spoken for |
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You've chosen the tunes |
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Everything is just so, is just so |
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And now birdsong, ice clinking in the sun |
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Drip feed of gentle talk and pleasantries |
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And I wait for a gap in the traffic |
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To tell her |
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I'll always hold you close |
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It's all I'm good for |
