| In your blue room, sit with a candle lit | |
| On a charcoal bed of dreams you carry on | |
| Though the streets are hot you can still a lot | |
| But you can walk out and forget there isn't time to take a loan | |
| But you're now into something that you were immune to before | |
| And there wasn't a sign, you just fell into line at the door | |
| And the question sands in the palms of hands | |
| Of the wretches picking pieces of their minds up off the floor | |
| On the mantel place, there is still a trace | |
| Of the plastic face you hung your moments on | |
| And the sudden scare of a landing there on the sea | |
| That you don't care to even see when you're alone | |
| But the day is too short and you can't find support in the sun | |
| You had thought you'd decide to just stick out the ride as it comes | |
| But the emptiness of a thing that's less than what it was thought to be | |
| Has left you wondering just how much more |
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