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If language were liquid it would be rushing in |
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Instead here we are |
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In a silence more eloquent than any word could ever be |
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These words are too solid |
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They don't move fast enough |
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To catch the blur in the brain that flies by |
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And is gone and is gone |
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And is gone, gone |
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Gone, gone and is gone |
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I'd like to meet you in a timeless, placeless place |
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Somewhere out of context |
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And beyond all consequences |
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Let's go back to the building |
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(Words are too solid) |
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On little West Twelfth |
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(They don't move fast enough) |
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It is not far away |
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And the river is there |
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And the sun and the spaces |
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Are all laying low |
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(To catch the blur in the brain) |
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And we'll sit in the silence |
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(That flies by and is gone) |
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That comes rushing in and is gone |
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And is gone, gone |
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Gone, gone and is gone |
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I won't use words again |
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They don't mean what I meant |
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They don't say what I said |
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They're just the crust of the meaning with realms underneath |
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Never touched, never stirred |
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Never even moved through |
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If language were liquid it would be rushing in |
|
Instead here we are |
|
In a silence more eloquent than any word could ever be |
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And is gone, gone, gone, gone |
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And is gone and is gone and is gone |
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And is gone, gone, gone and is gone and is gone |
