There's a gold shadow
seeping through the door.
There's a cold
sparrow
lying still upon the floor.
Dead and true as lipstick,
slow as the speed of skin.
There's a gold,
gold shadow
growing from within.
There's a bent
willow
in the moonlight
painted blue.
There's a spent window
silhouetting you.
Deep and true as whiskey,
soft and sure as lies.
There's a bent,
bent willow
reflecting in your eyes.
But now there's a girl out in a
boat.
Her arms are outstretched and she's barely afloat.
There's a man on the shore,
a rope in his hands.
It's tied to the boat and he's pulling as hard as he can.
Not to bring her to him,
but to pull the whole shore and the
whole world within to her open door.
All his voices are heard.
All his voices are heard.
All his voices are heard.
All his voices are heard.
Has he been here before?
There's a silver distance,
a luminescent glimpse.
There's a river of resistance,
dried to cracks upon your lips.
Brittle as believing,
sticky as betrayal.
There's a silver distance opening like a trail.
There was a time
before all the leaves covered the beauty of Adam and Eve.
And they were blind
and they were free to be whatever they wanted to be.
But now they're just a prayer and a song.
And he is so sorry for all that went wrong.
All his voices are heard.
All his voices are heard.
All his voices are heard.
All his voices are heard.
Has he been here before?
Has he been here before?